Hogwarts Drabble collection
by Energetic red
Summary: Featuring minor and major characters. Small snippets in time about: Dark magic, death,crime, family, friendship, school, and war.
1. Naivety

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters.**

 **Hogwarts Drabble Challenge.**

 **Prompt: Paper**

 **Warning: some mild disturbing themes.**

* * *

 **Naivety**

* * *

 _Dear Tom,_

Tom Riddle groaned when he felt her writing protrude into his head, her writing had a childish simplicity to it, somewhat on the messy side, and the amount of grammar and spelling errors he had to correct was irking.

 _There was another bruise on my left wrist again, and I'm certain it wasn't there before! There were small cuts as well…_

His writing pushed up onto the yellow tinted page. **Do they hurt?**

 _Not too much._

 _My robe sleeve covers it._

 _But I don't understand how they got there…._

 **Well do you move around in your sleep? There must be a reasonable explanation, there's no need to worry dear.**

 **Maybe you were clumsy.**

 _But..._

 _Maybe I should go to the hospital wing._

 **Are they _that_ serious?**

 _Well not really….I don't know any healing magic though_ **,** _Tom, we don't learn that stuff yet until we're older._

 _Do you know any spells Tom, could you teach me?_

 **Oh, I would be delighted. But it's best we keep it simple, this is _very_ complex magic, Ginny, I wouldn't want to exhaust you. **

**Do you think you can handle it?**

 _Yes! I'm a fast learner, just tell me what to do._

 **That's my girl.**

 **But first, are you alone?**

 _Yes, I'm in my dorm room, everyone else has gone to breakfast._

 **So it's still morning. You should go have breakfast, you'll need the energy.**

 _But what about the spells you were going to teach me!_

 ** _Later_ , dear, you need your breakfast. But how about I teach you tonight, that way I'll have more time to teach you more complex spells, wouldn't you like that, dear?**

 _But I wanted to heal up the bruises. Tom can't you just teach me now? Please._

 **Ginny darling, It's quite tiring for me to stay awake this long, remember? I need to regain my energy or my magic will weaken.**

 **Forgive me.**

 _You're not weak Tom! I'm sorry, I just forget sometimes. Of course you can teach me later, I'll go get breakfast now._

 **May I come with you? I like it when you keep me close.**

 _Of course, Tom, I'll put you in my pocket, you'll be safe there._

 **You're such a saint, I'm so lucky to have you.**

 _….I'm glad I have you too, it's like having a friend in my pocket._

 _I know it sounds silly!_

 **It's not silly Ginny. You're my first real friend.**

 **Now are you sure those cuts and bruises aren't painful?**

 _They'll heal up fast, they're not very deep….they must be from a paper cut, or I could have banged by wrist on the bedpost in my sleep._

 **You do bruise easily. You need to be more careful.**

 _I will! I'm off to breakfast now, I'll open you tonight, is that alright, Tom?_

 **Yes, that's fine.**

 **I can't wait.**

 _That's weird._

 **Excuse me?**

 _The grip on my quill…my right hand felt weird, like it tingled…_

 **You're weak from lack of food, didn't I say you needed breakfast?**

 **You've been writing too much, go to the Great hall and eat something.**

 _Alright, don't worry, I will. I'm probably just being silly._

 _Goodbye Tom._

 **Goodbye Ginny.**

The diary closed. Tom chuckled, oh what a sweet little fool.


	2. Human Biology

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters.**

 **Hogwarts Drabble Challenge.**

 **Prompt: Handcuffs**

 **Warning: some mild disturbing themes.**

* * *

 **Human Biology**

* * *

Tonks sighed, sitting down in the uncomfortable metal chair, the interrogation room was grey, having a claustrophobic feel to make the suspects squirm. Tonks forced her expression to stay stern, this was the side of the job she hated, like a little piece of her was being forced away as she built up her walls to protect herself from whatever mind games a deranged killer would try to play.

But Melanie Stone was different, for one thing she was an Unspeakable, (A scandal the Wizarding radio news and Daily Prophet had milked dry, like a dead cow.)

Melanie also looked completely ordinary, no damage from dark magic, or demented appearance. Melanie's features were soft and docile, she was 31 years old, her skin ivory, with tints of pink on the cheeks. She had medium wavy vibrant ginger hair, with dark roots, and an oval face, with a long button nose, but her eyes….they were a bit peculiar, a deep piercing grey, the grey iris almost blending in with the white sclera.

"Are you going to stare at me all day?" Melanie spoke smoothly, her voice sounding like a news presenter's, clear and direct.

Melanie was a suspected serial killer, a killer who had murdered five people in the last five months, in very creative and somewhat artistic ways. Which was why her hands were handcuffed to the battered metal table.

The Victims:

Mrs Eliza Agarkar

Ms Rebecca Cornhill

Mr Alphonso Merrygold

Mr Arthur Lipworth

Mrs Yuki Li

Tonks struggled to keep her face passive, her hair changing to yellow. "On April 16th at 1945 hours, you were seen leaving Mr and Mrs Li's house, in Sheffield," her fingers twitching when Melanie smiled thinly. "Mrs Li's body was discovered three hours later by her husband-"

"The poor man must have been terrified," Melanie said, Tonks gritted her teeth. "I assume you suspect I murdered them?" She arched an eyebrow.

Tonks felt like squirming under the woman's stare, why did they have to shove this one on her? Was this meant to be character building or rookie training? "Our Witness has identified you-"

"How were they murdered?" Melanie interrupted lightly, making Tonks' passive expression crack. "Was magic used at all?"

"No," Tonks admitted. "All the methods murder were…Muggle orientated."

"And the murder weapons were not found?" Melanie said, frowning. "So I'm being arrested for being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, also why would I murder strangers and not subdue them with magic? I'm a witch," smiling at Tonks placidly. "I don't mean to belittle you, Ms Tonks….but the flaws in your investigation are too large to ignore…" she said ruefully. "Especially since I had an alibi for the other suspected murders."

People could be bribed and memories altered, that's what Mad-Eye had always warned her about. Magic could create the most convincing of illusions.

Tonks struggled to remain composed, trying to remain cool, a blush creeping onto her cheeks, a seed of doubt latching on, but she shoved it away. _Trust your instinct_ , Mad-Eye would always say. "Would you be willing to take Veritaserum and testify in front of the Wizengamot?"

"No, there's no need, because I'm innocent," Melanie leaned back in her chair a little, looking as calm as a cucumber.

 _Liar._

Tonks was silent, looking at the woman carefully, she wasn't sure what to make of this woman, but the overconfidence was unnerving. There was just something not quite right about Melanie. So how was Tonks meant to play this? Reciting protocol would get her nowhere, so she thought back to her training.

When dealing with a serial killer, profile them, analyse their mannerism and speech pattern. Observe and deduct. "Innocence is the absence of guilt," Tonks looked at her intently.

"And you can't prove a negative," Melanie continued, the two eyeing each other like they were having some sort of dance, eyes locked on. "In some ways the same can be said with the truth, what you believe to be a lie, I could interpret as the truth-"

"Until it's proven otherwise by solid evidence," Tonks interrupted. "So if there's no murder weapon, at the crime scene, where would it be?" Keeping her voice mildl, trying to gauge her Melanie's face was unreadable.

Why a Muggle method? Logically the weapons would be easier to hide, it was practically. But what about pleasure? The main reason most serial killers used magic was so they could feel the power the Dark curses gave them. Dark magic was addictive, some said it felt like a gentle caress, but also powerful and wild. It was a thrill like no other, one Muggle methods of killing wouldn't measure up to.

So was the Muggle method entirely for practical and logical reasons?Or was there a deeper meaning?

….Melanie was raised in a wizarding family. What was the point of the murders? What did _she_ gain?

"The autopsy said it was like a dissection," Tonks said aloud, looking at Melanie intently. "But the body was also displayed like art. Bit weird isn't it?"

"To the ordinary mind," Melanie looked at blankly, shrugging dismissively. "But it's about perspective, really, when you think about it," she added coolly, as if she was completely at peace.

"To a psycho, yeah, it'd be pretty mundane I think," Tonks remarked coldly. "But you seem to understand?"

Melanie tapped her fingers on the table, her neatly trimmed nails making a sharp drumming noise. "As an Unspeakable, I have explored many depths of magic, it's been a privilege really…..but genetics, biology, they are truly breathtaking," she said, scooting around the subject, her answer long winded.

 _Narcissist_.

"Ms Tonks, do you know the real difference between Muggles and Wizardkind?" Melanie's eyes seemed to light up.

Tonks searched for an answer, trying to avoid the obvious. "Bones, we're made of thicker stuff."

"Bravo," Melanie congratulated brightly.

 _Condescending._

Melanie's eyes twinkled with fascination, eyeing Tonks like she was a specimen in a lab.

 _Obsession._

Tonks tried not to squirm under the woman's intense stare, it felt like she was being undressed. It was disturbing.

Melanie's smile made her skin crawl. "But of course it is a bit more than that. The truth is hidden in the human body," Melanie said plainly, as if the answer was obvious.

Tonks tried not to clench her fists. "So the killer is searching for...what exactly?" narrowing her eyes at Melanie.

Melanie smiled pleasantly. "Ms Tonks, when a teacher asks the class a question, she wants to see who's figured it out first," she told her cryptically. "Or they'll never learn."

 _Mind games._

Tonks scowled, trying not to let Melanie get under her skin. Trying to piece the puzzle together, some things were starting to click. But it still felt deranged,

A victim every month= Compulsion.

Dissections + Puzzles = Lesson?

Artistic poses = Expression?

No magic= Deliberate statement.

Victims' link = Unknown?

But if the main focus was biology….Tonks' eyes widened, she'd need to examine their medical records, what genetic trait made them of interest to this killer?

"Something about their genetics is the link," Tonks said, Melanie's expression remained blank.

 _Intrigue._

"Then you have quite the puzzle on your hands," Melanie smiled, before lifting up her cuffed wrists, glancing over at the clock . "Now according to the law, you're only able to hold a suspected criminal for twelve hours, my last hour expired twelve minutes ago… _So_?"

Tonks felt a rise of frustration, they had no murder weapon, her wand had been checked, house combed clean. And the head of the Unspeakable department was becoming frustrated by the Aurors interference.

It was bad press and bad press didn't reflect well on the Minister.

They had nothing.

 _The perfect murderer._

Tonks stood up from her seat, all the while staring Melanie down, but the older woman just kept on smiling. "Then I suppose you're free to go, Ms Stone," she said stiffly, un-cuffing her.

Melanie rubbed her wrists, looking at Tonks thoughtfully. Tonks smirked back challengingly, the two women appraising each other.

 _Let the game begin._


	3. It just isn't going to work

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters.**

 **Hogwarts Drabble Challenge.**

 **Prompt: Maybe one day it would be different.**

* * *

 **It just isn't going to work**

* * *

She handed him the yellow slip at the end of the day; Remus considered starting a collection.

 _Termination of employment._

After three months of solid work, he'd become almost complacent, even if it was just stacking shelves in a warehouse. He'd thought that maybe if he kept his head down, they wouldn't be too thorough in their background check, that this time might be different.

The admin looked at him with hints of pity, wearing pink aunt spectacles and a matching mud green tweed cardigan and skirt. He was little in comparison, though his brown uniform was neat as could be, ironed and cleaned diligently; the rest of him wasn't as well kept. The faint scars on his face sagged down his skin, his hair turning prematurely grey at the sides. He liked to think he still had a nice smile though.

"If you can't afford the Wolfsbane potion, you're too much of a risk…." she informed him clinically, tidying up her papers on the desk. "It just isn't going to work, Mr Lupin, we apologize."

He kept a small smile on his face, as if everything was fine, nodding in understanding, folding the slip into his pocket. "I'll go clean out my locker," he said mechanically, familiar with the procedure, it was best to get out quickly so he wouldn't run into his co-workers; he never liked those humiliating goodbyes.

The pity never left her eyes, because the sad truth was that he was more than qualified to take over _her_ job, if the roles were reversed he'd be the one handing out the yellow slip: Outstanding NEWT results, a former Prefect, good recommendations from teachers.

If it wasn't for his furry little problem he'd be-

Remus almost sighed. But that's life.

No use growing bitter over it.

Besides he was who he was because of his disease, he'd come to accept that, even if he was an abnormality.

He rose from his seat, heading out of the door, he tried to stay somewhat positive, he'd still saved enough money to keep a roof over his head for another two months, he'd have to cut back on food, but he'd make do.

He was better off than most, he had to remember that. There was still work at the Warrington potions factory, most of their workers were Werewolves, it was cheap labour. The salary was under minimum wage and the hours were practically illegal, but it would keep him afloat for a long while until he found something better.

His old former classmates would probably tell him he shouldn't have wasted all that time studying if he couldn't even get a decent job, but most people wouldn't understand, because at the end of the day, that bookish Werewolf with a predicted dismal future still bested them in every class, fought in a war to help change the world for the better.

You couldn't right all the world's wrongs, but maybe one day it would be different.


	4. Toads

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters.**

 **Hogwarts Camp challenge: Singing**

 **Drabble challenge, Prompt : Am I interrupting anything?**

* * *

 **Toads**

* * *

"Why is Sterling leading, again?" snapped Isobel, glaring at the said Ravenclaw.

Sterling rolled his eyes, the choir assembled in the music room for another practice session, the room was a little pact with all twenty students and their instructor piled in. "Uh, maybe because my voice doesn't sound like nails on a chalk board?"

Isobel looked enraged. "I had tonsillitis!"

Professor Flitwick frowned. "Now, now Ms Macdonald, Mr McGubbin, let's settle down," he chided, absently glancing over his shoulder. "Professor Umbridge will be here any moment."

Sterling held back a groan, he and Isobel sharing a worn out look. The pink clad woman gave him the creeps. She reminded him too much of that nurse from _The One who flew the Cuckoo's nest,_ the only difference being that she smiled a lot more.

He glanced down at the toad in his hand.

He was quite tempted to stick a pink bow on it…

"Sir! Daphne took my music sheet," Darius whined, glaring at the fifth year girl.

Daphne looked at him like he was a slug. "No, Darius stole mine.'

"Listen quick fingers-" Darius said, eyes narrowing.

"Mr Berrow, please just duplicate it," Professor Flitwick said, readjusting his glassed and tapping his wand impatiently. "Now everyone, please get in positions… Ms Abbot, please control Trevor."

Justin-Finch Fletchley piped up, "I'm holding Trevor sir!"

Sterling shifted his toad under his arm, taking his place in the centre and ignoring Isobel's glare. Honestly, what was her problem? Why did she always have to be so snappy with him?

"Alright, let's all settle down!" the Professor said, letting out an exasperated sigh and tapping his wand on the podium once again.

"Sir, I've lost my toad!" Julie yelled, looking around frantically on the floor.

It was like a domino effect, suddenly everyone started looking around frantically. Sterling kept a tighter hold on his toad, lifting his feet up to check he hadn't accidentally stepped on the slimy thing.

'Bet she stole it…' Darius muttered, glaring at Daphne.

'Oh, shut up, Darius!' Daphne let out a growl of frustration, before her expression suddenly morphed into confusion. "…Why would I steal a toad, anyway?"

"Everyone calm down," Professor Flitwick said, sternly, his voice carrying over the room. "I'm sure he'll turn up eventually, so let's all just carry on." He raised his hands in a placating manner, giving them all a pointed look.

Julie blushed, standing to her feet. Sterling tried to stop his toad from jumping out of his grip, as everyone got back into place.

Then there was the sound of heels, followed by a shrill like cough. "Hem hem… am I interrupting anything?' A sweet smile plastered on the pink Inquisitor's face.

There was the briefest flash of irritation on Professor Flitwicks face, but the short man smiled welcomingly. "Ah, Madam Umbridge, I was worried you wouldn't show," he greeted, trying to be as welcoming as possible.

Umbridge smiled pleasantly, clicking her ballpoint pen, as she glanced down at her clipboard. "Oh you needn't worry about that," she said, waving her pink-nailed hand lightly. "Now, let's just pretend I'm not here."

Sterling shot Justin a knowing look. As if! The woman's presence was a little hard to ignore considering she was decked head to toe in pink so bright she was like an oversized lightbulb. Why would a woman in her fifties wear so much pink anyway…?

He pegged it as a mid-life crisis.

It made the most logical sense. His mum had said his dad went through one a year ago, which was why he had bought three new sets of biker's jacket to complement the week-old, other five he'd stuffed in the closet.

The Head of Ravenclaw tapped his wand against the podium for a third time. "From the top," he began, giving them all a discreet, encouraging and almost pleading look.

Sterling quickly tried to focus, glancing at his music sheet.

 _Gaudeamus Igitur,_

 _Jauvenes dum Sumus_

 _Post juncundam-_

"Hem,hem."

Sterling faltered, but Professor Flitwick just acted like Umbridge hadn't made a sound.

 _P-post molestan sanetutem-_

"Hem, hem, _hem_."

Daphne and Darius stopped singing, Justin's voice became much harsher, while Isobel's voice trailed away and Sterling's voice went completely out of sync.

Professor Flitwick smiled tightly, lowering his arms and looking up at Umbridge. "Is something wrong, Dolores?" he asked, trying to remain calm.

Umbridge's thin, pink-glossed lips spread into a honey-coated smiled. "I just have a small, tiny question," she said, raising a little finger to emphasis her point, as her bright eyes surveyed the toads in the students' arms. "Do you normally use toads…? Forgive me, but they seem like quite the risk."

Sterling held back a groan, holding his toad protectively.

Professor Flitwick looked at her in disbelief. "A risk?"

"Well…" She let out a light, girlish chuckle that made the hairs on Sterling's neck stand up. "They could go bouncing about the place, couldn't they?" she elaborated, primly. "…That seems quite hazardous…" She scrunched her brow, thoughtfully, looking rather 'concerned'. "…And, unsanitary…"

Sterling exchanged an uneasy look with Julie, his eyes hastily searching for the lost toad. What was its name again? Blue, Bouncer, Slipper, Sir Luckless? Hopefully the toad was off bouncing down the hallway far away and out of sight.

Professor Flitwick let out a strained laugh. "I can assure you, Madam, our toads are well-trained," he said, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

Umbridge's eyes narrowed, sliding over the choir, making many of them bristle. Sterling tried to keep a straight face as her piercing eyes passed over him. They soon landed on Julie Parks, noting her empty arms. "Then, why is there one missing, may I ask…?" Umbridge asked, glancing down at the short Professor with a widening, sweet smile.

"It's ill," Sterling blurted out, drawing in everyone's attention. "Fungal infection," he added, hastily, as it was the first toad related illness that popped into his head. "It's really nasty…"

"Yeah, it's awful," Julie said, grimacing, her shoulders slumping. "We didn't want him infecting the rest of the toads. I've placed him in quarantine."

Justin covered his laugh with a loud, hoarse cough. Sterling gave him a reprimanding look; the idiot better not blow their story to pieces!

Umbridge's smile faded, her noise wrinkling a tad. "I see… how _unpleasant_ ," she said, stretching out the last word as she scribbled something down on her clipboard, before her smile slipped back into place and she clasped her hands together, 'encouragingly'. "…Oh, do carry on, please. Lovely music."

Professor Flitwick flashed the condescending bitch a painfully strained smile. " _Thank you_ … from the top, people!" he said, tapping his wand on the podium.

 _Gaudeamus Igitur,_

 _Jauvenes dum Sumus_

 _Post juncundam, juncundam_

 _After this sick old age, the earth will take us._

Sterling's eyes locked on something moving behind Umbridge, his stomach twisting when he saw the lost toad jump closer to her.

Bloody typical.

 _Ubi sunt, qui ante nos!_

 _In mundo fuere?_

 _Where are those who have lived before us?_

Sterling looked around, his eyes resting on the person closest to him. He subtly nudged Isobel with his foot, making her voice shake. Her eyes flickered to him angrily, but he jerked his head in Umbridge's direction.

Following his motion, Isobel's eyes widened as she spotted the rogue toad heading for Umbridge, her mouth snapping shut. She glance back at Sterling, at a loss, but he just began to sing louder, raising two eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders at her and giving her a look.

Do something.

 _Transeas ad Superos,_

 _Transeas ad inferos!_

Daphne looked at Sterling oddly when he raised his voice higher, the others raising their own voices louder to be heard and remain in sync.

Placing her hand behind her back, Isobel slipped out her wand and discreetly angling it. The toad was now resting on Umbridge's vibrant, buckled shoe – one mistake and things could get very unpleasant!

HOS SI VIS VIDERE!

Sterling was practically yelling, rather incomprehensively, at this point, while Professor Flitwick was frantically trying to signal him to lower his pitch. While, Umbridge just tutted, as she wrote something down on her clipboard.

Isobel flicked her wand, whispering a spell, as Sterling's singing drowned out the rest of the noise. The toad began to rise carefully in the air…

OUR LIFE IS TOO SHORT AND,

IT ENDS TOO FAST!

Sterling was the only person singing at this point, practically everyone staring at him like he was mentally challenged. With such a grand distraction, Isobel used her wand to flick the toad across the room, off Umbridge's shoe and towards the well-trimmed Dittany plant in the far corner of the music room.

Professor Flitwick waved his hands in the air. "Mr McGubbin!" he shouted out, making Sterling stopped abruptly, his cheeks growing pink. "That's loud enough!" The Professor clutched his head, as if the singing had brought on a headache.

Sterling smiled sheepishly, breathing a little. "Hehe, sorry…" he broke off, coughing for a moment due to his throat feeling rather dry. "…Sorry, sir… I, uh, just really like this song."

"We noticed," Daphne said, dryly.

Sterling kept the smile stuck on his face, glancing over at Umbridge. "Would you like us to start from the top, Professor?" he asked, innocently.

Umbridge smiled, thinly. "I believe I've heard enough," she simpered, looking down at the Head of Ravenclaw condescendingly. "I'll send you my report at the end of the day." She ticked off one last thing on her clipboard, before promptly turning her back to them with her head raised high and slime covered heels scraped against the floor as she strode away.

Professor Flitwick looked relieved, turning back to his students with his usual cheery smile back in place. "Ah well, let's start from the beginning… a little lower this time, Mr McGubbin," he said, a dash of amusement in his voice.

Sterling grinned, rubbing the back of his head.

Isobel rolled her eyes as she passed Julie her toad. "Try not to lose it this time, Jules; you're worse than Longbottom," she said, readjusted her own toad in her arms to make sure it didn't try to escape as well.

"Sorry, everyone…" Julie laughed nervously.

The Head of Ravenclaw tapped his wand on the podium for fifth time. "From the top."

Sterling opened his mouth to sing, but then Darius interrupted, gesturing widely to his now empty music stand and glaring at an innocent-looking Daphne.

"Sir! She stole my music sheet again, I saw her this time!"


	5. Revenge

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters.**

 **Hogwarts Camp challenge: Archery  
**

 **This is a complete AU. Imagine a world where Muggles don't exist and you have this shit-storm! They'll be changes to characters' blood types, but but some things will mirror canon.**

 **(thank you GallonoftheStuff and RedButterfly for being my betas)**

* * *

 **Revenge**

* * *

The air was stuffy and dirty. The houses were built close together, with leaking roofs and stained bricks, moss growing in the cracks like a fungus. The streets were overcrowded.

Shabby built market stalls selling fake Dragon eggs and broken wands lined the streets in the city square, gathering large crowds. A few young wizards in a back alley levitated a gaunt looking Squib in the air, while passing Aurors turned a blind eye.

Further down the street people went to Fate's Temple to sacrifice small animals at the altar in hopes that it would atone for their sins, so afterwards they could go to the pub with a clear conscience.

The Leaky Cauldron was popular for its somewhat clean rooms and beer, low ceiling and large fire that warmed up the room, with the odd singer in the background trying to calm down an impending brawl. But a few slips of Calming Draught in their drinks did a better job on most days.

"Nev, are you even listening?"

Neville's head jerked up, returning his attention back to his betrothed. Hannah fixed him with an exasperated look while her hand wiped down the bar counter with a wine-stained rag. She was a true fairhead, with a wide forehead, pale skin, soft blue eyes and fair, wavy honey-blonde hair, all gathered up in a scarf tied around her head.

"Uh, sorry…" He gave her a sheepish smile.

Frustration flashed in her eyes. "Are you even taking this seriously?"

"Of course I am," Neville tried to placate her, his smile vanishing. "I just…you know what I'm like."

Hannah bit down on her bottom lip, her brow creasing in worry, as he hesitantly covered her hand with his. "You can't do this Nev - you'll die." Her voice wavered.

He swallowed a lump down his throat. He didn't want to have the same argument with her; it never ended well . "This is something I have to do, Hannah."

Hannah looked at him gravely, removing her hand from under his. "You know old man Tom, you know what he said to me two night ago?"

Neville shifted in his seat, looking at her attentively. "What did he say?"

"He wants us to take over the Leaky Cauldron," she said anxiously. His eyes widened, his lips parting as he tried not to gape. Owning a real Inn? That made you almost part of the elite! You didn't just hand it over to just anyone.

Neville felt a swell of happiness, his lips twitching into a smile. "Is he serious?"

The anxiousness left Hannah's face. "Well it isn't like he has any family left….and he always liked you." She held his hand tightly. "Nev, think about it, we could start a family…just forget Bellatrix-"

He flinched at the name, drawing his hand back, his stomach twisting painfully. "I should get going..."

Neville slipped off the bar stool, trying not to look at Hannah's desperate expression.

* * *

"Keep your guard up, Longbottom!" Mad-Eye barked, taking a large chug of wine as he sat on his chair. His magical eye swirled around the courtyard, his robes mismatched and patched.

The training yard was small, surrounded by tall houses, with plants growing along the sides and partly broken training dummies stuffed in each corner.

Neville ducked out of the way of Tonks' attack, her blunted blade hitting the dirt. He raised his sword. Tonks was six years older than him;she had more experience fighting and had survived three mass death matches before retiring early to marry and have a baby; she could probably kill him with one strike.

Their swords clashed. Neville tried to land a few kicks and punches but Tonks was fast and lithe, so it was hard to knock her down. And as much as he tried, he wasn't fast enough - his frame was too large, and years of malnutrition kept him from being considered a strongman or having a knight-like body.

"Strike her now!" Mad-Eye made a frustrated sound.

Neville still managed to knock Tonks Off her feet, his sword pointed at her neck, her chest rising up and down as she breathed heavily. She smirked wryly, looking up at him. "Not bad."

Neville smiled and her smirk widened. Her leg swerved out, kicking him hard in the stomach.

"Fuck," he hissed in pain. He was knocked back, winded, as Tonks jumped to her feet, snatching sword back up to strike him. He winced when the blade hit his padded ribs, but he remained standing.

Tonks swiped behind his leg, knocking him to his knees, her sword prodding his neck. "But when you knock me down, make sure I stay down."

Then she used her elbow to knock him out.

* * *

"You won't be able to use magic," Hannah reminded him, watching him prepare dinner in his gran's old house. Hannah came up beside him - he was sitting on a stool, skinning a rabbit.

"I know." His hand shook, holding the blade tighter. According to the Gods, magic wasn't the way to test a man and woman's true strength. Or perhaps that was Hippogriff shite and the nobles just liked seeing a bloody brawl like the next wizard.

Hannah's gaze didn't waver. "Okay, let's say you do win, you kill her, then what?" She looked at him searchingly. Neville swallowed a lump down his throat. "The Blacks are a powerful family, her sister is marrying the heir to the throne, they'll come after you and me," she tried to talk sense to him.

Neville closed his eyes, his stomach churning. He looked up at Hannah. He'd been thinking about this for a long time now, ever since Bellatrix had announced she'd be retiring once she married Lestrange, as was law for female fighters - that this year's match would be her last.

His last chance to get justice for his parents.

His mouth felt dry. He took a deep breath, placing the half-skinned rabbit on the woven cloth on the floor. "I won't let them come after you…"

She looked at him in confusion, as if she was trying to understand, but she couldn't. "Just because it's legal to kill someone in combat, doesn't mean they won't strike back, they'll find a-"

"If you're not connected to me, they won't come after you. With Gran gone, you're the only thing I have left." Hannah cut him off when she touched his arm. He forced himself to look her in the eye, reminding himself that she deserved a better life,she deserved someone _better_. "Ernie Macmillan still has a soft spot for you…he's a good man."

Hannah jumped to her feet, staring at him in shock, her hand covering her mouth, as if to stop herself from shouting.

The words felt clogged up in his throat. "I love you, Hannah….but I can't. Do you know what she does to Squibs? Do You know what she did to Hermione Granger, the witch they had to send to the Healers?" He stood to his feet, trying to draw closer to her. "The King, Riddle, High Priest Fudge, they don't care and everyone else is too scared..." A large lump formed in his throat. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she shook her head desperately. "I-If I die, you'll be taken care of, and if I live, the Macmillans will keep you safe; the Blacks wouldn't dare upset them."

"If you loved me, you wouldn't do this!" Hannah finally spoke, her voice raw. "I don't want to be taken care of, I just want _you_." She cupped his face, holding tightly - like she was trying to make him see sense. "Your parents wouldn't have wanted revenge, they would have wanted you to be happy," she said, her voice hitching from sobs. "Please, _please_ , don't do this." She rested her forehead against his, her tears wetting his face.

He let out a shallow breath, his chest aching, his eyes feeling wet, and kissed her forehead. "I can't, I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I love you."

She pushed him away, clutching her stomach like she was in pain, before storming out of the small house.

* * *

Neville had dreamt about them every night for the past three years.

Some people said Frank Longbottom had been a fool; some said he had balls the size of a giant's.

Some people said he shouldn't have married that Squib Alice Smith, that since he was an Auror, he could have done better.

The King said Squibs were freaks,he said ' _How can a child not be born with magic? It's unnatural, that's what it is._ ' And a lot of people were scared of what they didn't understand.

When he was ten, he remembered all the girls wanted to be like Bellatrix Black; they said she was the fiercest noble warrior in all the kingdom, but when his father had arrested Bellatrix for torturing and killing three Squibs, suddenly everyone wasn't so sure Bellatrix was as perfect as she appeared.

But money could buy anything, even a nice unfair trial where Bellatrix was pronounced innocent by the King himself and Frank Longbottom was dismissed from the Aurors. A year later young Narcissa Black and Prince Anselm Grindelwald's engagement was announced.

Neville stirred in his sleep. His father's disgrace should have been enough compensation, but it wasn't, not for Bellatrix - she didn't forgive easily. He learned that night what kind of monster she was, what type of world he lived in.

He imagined his parents' faces, never happy, always screaming. That night he had been concealed under the floorboards in the cellar, notice-me-not charms surrounding him protectively like a blanket.

He heard the cold laughter that followed his parents' screaming and begging.

" _Crucio_."

Bellatrix said the spell with relish and passion, like she was in Zion, bathing in Fate's glory.

" _Crucio_."

Neville woke up with a start, soaked with sweat. A few rats skittered underneath his bed, the moonlight shining from the window.

The Aurors never even bothered to investigate their already knew, but no one cared.

Hannah was right, his parents would have wanted him to move on, to try and get over these nightmares and start a family. But he couldn't do it, he couldn't close his eyes without remembering their screaming.

Gran had told him revenge wasn't justice.

But he couldn't keep living like this - it had to end.

* * *

Neville sat on a stool in the training yard, cleaning his worn, blunt sword.

"Could you kill her though?"

He almost jumped out of his skin, jerking his head around and finding Mad-Eye towering above him, both eyes fixated on him.

Neville swallowed a dry lump down his throat. The question felt like a ton of bricks. "I have to, or she'll kill me." He Got to his feet.

Mad-Eye snorted, shaking his head. "It's suicide, Longbottom. She's a wolf and you're the lamb."

"Someone has to stand up to her," said Neville evenly, standing his ground as his mentor's good eye narrowed at him. "And whatever she throws at me, I can take it."

Whatever Bellatrix did to him, it would never equal how much she had made his parents suffer;he owed it to them to be strong. He had to be brave, just like his father. Mad-Eye looked at him intently. "You're either the bravest or the dumbest lad I ever met," he said, letting out a low scoff. "Follow me." Mad-Eye gestured him to come, walking out of the training yard.

They entered a rundown-looking house, full to the brim with weapons; bows and arrows, maces, staffs, shields, spears and swords. The weapons were cleaner than the house.

Neville froze when he saw Mad-Eye pulled a glistening sword from a purple velvet cloth. The sword looked untouched and as sharp as a Basilisk's fang; the handle was tinted silver with ruby-red gems and detailed engravings. But more importantly, were the words engraved on the blade:

Godric Gryffindor.

One of the four original wizards, a legend and practical deity in The Holy Book of Fate.

How in the thirteen hells of Temptation did Mad-Eye have this sword!

Neville didn't realise he was gaping. Mad-Eye smirked, handling the sword as if it were light as a feather. "I thought the same myself when I laid eyes on it. The Goblins are a tricky lot, possessive too…."

Neville stepped closer. "How did you steal it?" _How are you not dead?_

Mad-Eye gave him a shrewd look. "You think I'm a thief, Longbottom?"

Neville's eyes widened as he held his hands up quickly. "No! No, nothing like that!"

Mad-Eye's lips quirked upwards as he presented the sword out to him. "This is the best sword you'll find here in Pendragon. Take it."

Neville hesitated, holding his breath before releasing it apprehensively. He took hold of the handle, and the sword seemed to glow in his grip.

Mad-Eye looked at him sternly, but there was a hint of sadness in his hard gaze. "Remember lad, she likes to play with her food. So be careful."

* * *

The rules were simple:

The last one standing was the winner. No magic was allowed, but all manner of weapons were permitted. Four people were placed in the stadium - sometimes six if the summer solstice was taking place.

Bellatrix was fast, but he had strength on his side. The sword of Gryffindor was at his waist and his armour was polished. He almost laughed when he saw his reflection in the male Changing room's mirror; he looked like a knight in shining armour.

The other two fighters were Scabior and Greyback. Scabior had a feral look about him, while Greyback looked like a brute with sharp teeth.

A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. "You look handsome."

He turned around. Hannah was there, dressed in a long, modest, clean dress she normally wore for temple prayer. There was a long fresh daisy in her hand. "Hannah," he breathed her name, stepping closer. His chest ached as he ignored Scabior and Greyback's leering looks.

He hadn't seen her in months; he didn't think she'd ever want to see his face again. "Here." She stuck the daisy in the gap of his collar. "Mum used to say that it was good look…it's a stupid superstition…"

He held her hand. It felt rough and worn, smelling like strong wine. He smiled softly. "Thank you."

Her bottom lip trembled, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply, her lips warm and demanding. He closed his eyes and basked in the moment, wanting it to last forever.

Until the pressure of her lips lessened. "You're an idiot, but I love you." She rested her forehead against his, her eyes still closed.

He gave her a half-smile, his stomach twisting painfully. "I know, but you deserve better." He gazed at her tenderly. "I love you."

Greyback yelled at him to hurry up as the gates opened. Neville's stomach plummeted, like a basin of ice cold water had been poured over him. He looked at Hannah, and there was resignation in her eyes.

He hesitated, before kissing her one last time and pulling away.

* * *

The sun was hot on his skin, his breathing laboured. Blood was leaking from his crown. He tried to remain focused.

Scabior was dead, and Bellatrix was in the middle of pulling her sword out of Greyback's chest.

Bellatrix looked at him like a wolf would its prey, gleaming crimson-stained sword in hand. She was dressed in coal-black,expensive armour, her tangled black hair tied up into a bun and her helmet tossed aside, as if she thought she was invincible.

Thousands of people watched , some cheering, a small few screaming, the Weasley and Lovegood families being the most vocal in their pleas. Hannah was somewhere in the crowd too..."He's just a boy!" Molly Weasley screeched above the voices.

King Grindelwald watched on from his private box, gaze impassive. The crowned Prince and his betrothed Narcissa were on the King's right hand side. The royal advisor Tom Riddle, sat on the King's left, grey eyes glinting with dark amusement.

Neville kept his gaze locked on Bellatrix, holding his sword tighter, rage bubbling in his gut.

Bellatrix ran forward and their blades clashed. They were close, heads inches apart as they stared each other down. Recognition shone in her eyes, and a smile twisted onto her face. "Longbottom, isn't it?" she crooned, slashing her sword with viper-like speed. Neville kept his guard up. "I think I met your parents, didn't I?" Her voice as sweet as honey.

He gritted his teeth, striking back. She blocked his attacks, pivoting on the spot like this was some sort of dance, then struck his thigh with her sword, making a large gash. He ignored the pain, trying to hit her left leg.

She elbowed him in the face, breaking his nose.

"Ah! Now I remember!" Bellatrix chuckled, manoeuvring at a frightening speed. He flinched when her sword came crashing down near his head. "Aw, was the widdle boy upset when mummy and daddy went bye-bye?"

His eyes widened in anger. "Shut up!" His stomach twisted painfully. The hatred festered and grew inside of him.

She whipped out a knife and stabbed his left thigh. He screamed in pain while she laughed.

His wound burned, his body became unbalanced, but he forced himself to stay standing. He tried to stab her in the stomach but she pulled back, twisted smug smile still carved on her face.

She kicked him to the ground, circling him excitedly. Her smile widened and she giggled. "Your parents are my fondest memory, Longbottom. I put it on a shelf next to my Pensieve, you know," Bellatrix taunted, slowly dragging her sword down his leg, making another large cut.

He cried out in pain.

 _She likes to play with her food_.

Her pupils dilated as she looked at him with wild eyes.

Rage in its purest form washed over him. "Fuck off, you sick, inbred cunt."

The smile dropped from her face. It looked like he'd hit a nerve. She raised her sword.

He gathered all his strength to push himself up, grabbing her right leg and knocking her to the ground.

There was a collective gasp.

Her head hit the floor and he straddled her waist, the point of his sword hovering over her throat. Her breath hitched, as she stared up at him in shock, her sword and dagger just out of reach.

The blade touched her skin and he saw fear enter her eyes.

 _Could you kill her though?_

"No!" a shrill voice screamed.

Neville looked up. Narcissa Black was standing on her feet, while her betrothed tried to pull her back. Neville kept his blade against Bellatrix's throat, while Bellatrix gritted her teeth, anger in her eyes, as if enraged by Narcissa's outburst.

The stadium was silent.

"Stop this!" Narcissa implored to the King.

For the first time something occurred to Neville. Narcissa Black was fifteen years old and her sister was about to die. Suddenly, Bellatrix became very human and not the monster who haunted his dreams.

Because right now, to Narcissa, _he_ was the monster.

 _Could you kill her though?_

Grindelwald ignored his future daughter-in-law, as Riddle whispered something in his ear. The King smiled coldly then stared straight at Neville, his gaze commanding.

"Kill her."

Neville's hands shook. Blood from his wound was dripping down his leg; the deep cut burned worse than ever.

"KILL HER!" the crowd roared.

Narcissa was crying, her eyes full of hate.

"KILL HER! KILL HER!"

Neville lifted his sword and Bellatrix's eyes widened.

"KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER!"

Bellatrix's arm twitched to her dagger.

Neville stabbed the sword down into the ground, an inch from her head.

She swiped up the dagger and stabbed him in the neck.

"NEV!"

The last thing he heard was an anguished scream, followed by a blinding light.

The daisy was stained with blood.


	6. Brothers

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters.**

 **Drabble challenge**

 **Prompt: Tie**

 **Rating a T: Mild swears.**

 **I got my brother to quickly proof read this and correct some things. :)**

* * *

 **Brothers**

* * *

"Hold still, Reggie," Sirius scowled at his five-year-old brother, trying to fasten the brown tie around Regulus' throat.

They didn't even want to go to this stupid party; it was going to be as boring as always. Kreacher was busy helping their mother get ready, while their father was sneaking a quick glass of whiskey before the party began (although, Sirius wasn't supposed to know that bit). So, Regulus needed help dressing and, because he was his big brother, he had to help him.

"Ow!" Regulus choked when Sirius pulled the tie too tight. "Stop," he said, trying to shove Sirius away.

Sirius looked at his brother, impatiently. "Hold still… or do you want to upset mum?" Instantly, Regulus stilled, making a whimpering noise. Sirius rolled his eyes. "…I'm nearly done," he added, exasperated.

Sirius fumbled to loosen the tie a bit, before a few moments later he drew back, satisfied with his work.

Regulus gave his brother a frustrated look. "I don't like ties."

"Nobody does," Sirius said in a matter-of-fact tone. "It's why grownups force us to wear them, stupid."

* * *

He was finally going back to Hogwarts!

Sirius was about to slam his trunk shut, when he noticed he hadn't packed his Transfiguration book. He frowned, looking around his messy room; the stupid thing had to be around here somewhere...

Uh, when had he last picked it up?

Sirius groaned, running a hand through his dark hair, before his eyes popped. Regulus must have taken it! The little sod was always sneaking into his room and moving stuff around! He marched out through the door, towards his little brother's room.

"Oi, Regulus!" he banged on the door.

The door was thrust opened.

"What do you want?" Regulus snapped, glowering at him.

For some reason, the twat was dressed in his school robes (the knot of his tie so tight it was tiny!). Why was he even dressed in his uniform this early?

"Why are you dressed in your uniform this early?" Sirius said, wrinkling his nose and pushing past him to enter the tidy room. "People will think you're a nerd."

Regulus' face scrunched up in aggravation. "Shut up and get out of my room."

Sirius ignored him, looking through his drawers. Then, he moved onto the second and third draw, until he finally saw the book. "Knew it," he said, pulling the book out and half turning to his brother. "You could have at least picked a better hiding place."

"Just get out… or I'll tell mum," Regulus said, his brow furrowing and his cheeks going a little pink.

Sirius rolled his eyes, letting out a scoff. After living in this house for eleven years, Regulus' threats were still barely sub-par.

Looking at his brother's knotted tie, a crooked smile slid onto Sirius face. "Are you gonna ask her to fix your tie as well…?" He wondered over to him, book stuffed under his arm, as Regulus scowled. "She might end up choking you."

"Will you get out already? You've got your book," Regulus said, harshly, rolling his eyes. "…Even though you barely read it," he added, snidely.

Merlin, Reggie had turned into such a little snot nosed bugger. "Well, we all can't all be good little Ravenclaws like you," he said, pinching Regulus' cheek.

"Get off!" Regulus swatted his hand away. "I'll be a Slytherin… I'm not like you." He may have sounded confident, but he still shifted uncomfortably.

Sirius forced a smile, his gut twisting involuntarily. "Well, obviously. I can already see you sucking up to Slughorn," he said, looking down at his brother and smugly noting Regulus was still a little runt. "Mummy will be so proud of her precious baby!" Regulus tried to draw himself up to full height, trying to look intimidating – and, Sirius very nearly reached out to ruffle his brother's hair. "…You know, you look like an idiot with that tie, right?" he said to the adorable moron.

Regulus faltered, his forehead creasing more as he glanced down at the extremely tight knot. "Well...I…" he stammered.

Sirius almost burst out laughing; the rest of Slytherin would probably realise the little sod was a mummy's boy. "You're hopeless." Sirius grabbed his brother's tie, throwing his book on the bed, as he tried to loosen the stubborn knot. "Hold still already, you don't want people thinking you can't dress yourself?" he said, as Regulus tried to squirm out of his grip.

Regulus scowled, but, nevertheless, stayed still. Sirius frowned as he picked at the tie, half-tempted to use his teeth to undo the tricky knot, before the tie finally loosened.

"Right listen, I'm only gonna tell you this all once," Sirius said, firmly, as Regulus gave him a confused look. "You start off like this, then, wrap it once like this, but not too loose, alright?" His little brother hastily nodded, watching him intently. Sirius tried not to go too fast as he tied the knot. "Okay, now you have a go." He undid the tie, letting it hang loose again.

Regulus kept his eyes downcast, focusing closely on his tie like it was a bloody Arithmancy equation. "Okay…. Okay… okays, there… no, wait, wait, oh, nah, uhh…" he absently muttered under his breath all the way through.

Beginning to grin, Sirius watched as his brother slowly fastened his tie properly. "See, you're not a complete moron after all!" he said, patting him on the shoulder.

The small smile on Regulus' face disappeared, replaced with a glare. "You're such a prick."

Sirius' grin didn't waver, as he smoothly swiped up his book and brushed passed him. "At least I can dress myself," he said, walking back into the hallway, not bothering to look back.

"…Thanks Siri…" a faint voice mumbled.

Sirius stopped and swirled on the spot, turning back to stare at Regulus. "Wait, what did you say?" he said, thinking he might have misheard.

Regulus scowled, heat rising to his cheeks. "I said 'shut up', that's what." Then, he slammed the door in Sirius' face.

He let out a low scoff _._

 _What a little shit,_ Sirius thought as he returned to his room.


	7. Perfect Drawing

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters.**

 **Drabble challenge**

 **Prompt: POTTERY and Dragon**

 **Warning: Marshmallow Fluff rainbow poop**

* * *

 **Perfect Drawing**

* * *

Rose scrunched up the crayon drawing of flowers.

Her ginger hair was in pigtails, one of the sparkle bobbles on the left side was loose. She had a blue crayon streak on her pale freckled right cheek. She was crouched down on her purple carpet in her room, with lots of crayons scattered around her, a pile of scrunched up paper next to her. She was wearing a pink baggy hoodie with the sleeves rolled up and star patterned leggings.

It had to be perfect.

She started the drawing again, trying to remember exactly what the dragon had looked like. The dragon had been brilliant, dangerous, but also graceful and fierce; Rose would never forget seeing that dragon for the first time.

That was why she had to draw it perfect, so her mum would see how brilliant the dragon had looked. Her mum hadn't been able to visit Uncle Charlie with her dad and Hugo, since she'd been very busy at the Ministry.

Rose was sure the entire government would crash without her mum around.

She frowned when she looked at her crayon set, the Welsh Green dragon's scales had been a specific vibrant green, with dark shadows around its limbs. Her frown deepened; she didn't have the right colours!

Jumping to her feet, she hurried out of to her room. Her dad was still probably working from home, or reading another Quidditch Magazine. She was sure he'd take her to the shop to buy the right crayon, as he knew this drawing was very important.

Her mum was still at work and Hugo was busy playing with his mini-castle in his room. She found her dad sitting at the kitchen table, reading through a stack of papers and writing something down with a pencil.

"Daddy, I need to go to the shop," Rose announced briskly.

Her dad looked up from his paperwork, looking at his daughter in mild surprise. "And, why's that Rosie?" He placed his pencil down, smiling at her fondly.

She placed her hands on her hips, sticking her chin out. "Because, I'm doing a drawing for mummy, but the green's the wrong colour."

Her dad's smile became wider. "Ah, I see. Well, don't worry, we don't need to got the shop for that," he told her, the chair scraped against kitchen floor as he stood up, taking his wand out of his trouser pocket.

Rose frowned at him. "How come…?"

"Magic love. Come on."

He patted her on the back, ushering her back towards the hallway.

She looked at her dad in surprise. She hadn't thought about using magic, she didn't even know there was a spell for conjuring up crayons! Maybe, her dad could make a million crayons for her, then she'd have every single shade of colour there was.

When they arrived back at her room, she presented three crayons; a dark green, a normal green and a light green. "The dragon was a special green!" she said loudly.

Her dad laughed quietly, ruffling her hair, as he took the dark green crayon. "What colours do you need?"

Rose started to babble on in detail on what type of green the dragon had been. Then, her dad uttered a spell and the crayon changed colour, at first she was amazed… but, then she shook her head, it still wasn't the right colour. "No, that isn't right." She bit down on her bottom lip.

So, he tried again, and she tried to be more descriptive, but the colour didn't turn out how she wanted, so they tried and tried again.

Until finally. "Rosie… it doesn't have to be perfect." Her dad looked worn out, sitting down on the carpet opposite his daughter.

She looked outraged. "Yes it does!" If it wasn't perfect mum, wouldn't like it. Uncle Harry had told her about the big tournament that had happened at school; her mum had seen a Welsh Hornet before, so she'd _know_ if Rose got it wrong.

Her dad let out a big sigh, shaking his head. Then, he looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Alright, but I'll need to write to Charlie."

Rose's brow furrowed in confusion.

* * *

Two weeks later, Uncle Charlie sent a thick, rectangular package, full to the brim of coloured photos of the Welsh Hornet dragon.

* * *

It took Rose another week to finally get the drawing just right. At first, her dad had suggested she trace over the photos that Uncle Charlie sent, but Rose had been quick to explain how that would be cheating. Besides, if she just traced the drawing then it wouldn't really have been drawn by her.

So, then her dad had said she could just use the pictures as a guide for measuring up the limbs, which hadn't sounded such a bad idea.

When Rose nervously entered the kitchen on Saturday morning, Hugo was already eating his rice krispies cereal while her dad and mum were sat drinking cups of tea, a box of cereal and milk already on the table.

Her mum smiled at her when she looked up, brown bushy hair tied back into a ponytail. She was just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, so she must not have work today. "Morning Rosie." Hermione placed her mug down on the table.

Rose bit her bottom lip, her dad smiled at her encouragingly. She went to stand right next to her mum, before she presented the finished drawing from behind her back. "It's a Welsh Hornet….so you wouldn't forget what it looked like…"

Her mum looked a little confused, but that quickly melted away as she smiled, gently taking the drawing. Hugo and her dad leaned in to get a proper look at it. "It's very good, Rosie." Her mum praised, drawing Rose into a warm hug. "I love it."

The praise felt like a warm glow in Rose's chest.


	8. Human Biology II

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters, I do own however any OC's.**

 **Drabble challenge.**

 **Prompt:"A nice murder. That'll cheer you up." Mrs Hudgson**

* * *

 **Human Biology II**

* * *

Tonks sat on the carpet of her apartment living, the place looking overcrowded with the large brown boxes piled up around the room, a pool of documents and photos surrounding her on the floor. She chewed her pencil, her brow creased in thought as she stared at the five photos.

All five victims had some sort of deformity, which was either physical or mental:

(Age 31) Mrs Eliza Agarkar, had a birth mark the shape of Australia on her left thigh.

(Age 43) Ms Rebecca Cornhill was born with six toes on her right foot.

(Age 50)Mr Alphonso Merrygold was Autistic.

(Age 37)Mr Arthur Lipworth had webbed feet.

(Age 46) Mrs Yuki Li had dead nerves on the left side of her mouth.

She stared at the photos very closely, why was Melanie murdering the deformed? It didn't seem like a hate crime…..

Tonks' stomach rumbled loudly, she frowned, she'd forgotten how hungry she was; what time was it anyway? How long had she been sitting here? She winced when she uncurled her legs, trying to stretch out the discomfort-she really fancied pizza right now-getting to her feet she walked over to the fridge.

Inside the fridge there was a variety of vegetables, a tub of butter, salad dressing and a small cheese pizza stuffed in the back. The apartment was in a Muggle neighbourhood, which Tonks found she liked, it was a lot more peaceful and the Muggle appliances were pretty wicked. The only downside was having to constantly convert her wages into Muggle money, but her dad had been a great help in that area, so it wasn't that much of a hassle.

She ripped the plastic off the pizza and placed it in the over-she wondered if Melanie lived in a Muggle apartment. Tonks frowned, leaning against the kitchen counter, trying to figure this psycho out was infuriating. Not to mention Melanie was a condescending ass….but at the same time the crazy bitch acted like she was trying to teach something important.

Tonks drummed her fingers on the counter top. Melanie was an Unspeakable, which meant she had high clearance. Even though many didn't know exactly what the Unspeakables did, the Aurors were aware that the department did do research into genetics, so it wouldn't be difficult for Melanie to get medical files on thousands of wizards and witches.

The victims were dissected and displayed in fancy poses, (one victim had the skin from his back stretched out into angel wings.) So it was a combination of Art and biology.

"So I'm dealing with an artistic scientist," she said dryly, letting out a deep sigh. " _Fantastic_."

Lots of magical folk were freakish in some way, especially with inbree-

Tonks froze, her eyes widening, she nearly tripped over when she rushed back to the living room, she snatched up the medical files, among the abnormities, the victims' blood status was also listed:

Mrs Eliza Agarkar: Pureblood.

Ms Rebecca Cornhill: Half-blood.

Mr Alphonso Merrygold: PureBlood.

Mr Arthur Lipworth:Half-Blood.

Mrs Yuki Li: Pureblood.

"Fuck yes!" Tonks shouted, a giant smile forming on her face.

The point Melanie was trying to prove was a personal and social experiment, she was trying to find the link incest had with genetic deformity, and more importantly she had a solid pattern. The murders took place every month, two woman then two men, Pureblood followed by Half-blood.

The next victim was going to be a Half-blood woman with some form of abnormity, whose family had a history of inbreeding which was documented in official medical records. The victims so far were between the ages 30 to 50, which meant Melanie was looking at the fairly recent products on incest.

Tonks felt a swell of excitement, she could solve this and wipe that smug look of Melanie's face, show her that her crimes wouldn't go unpunished.

Meanwhile the pizza burnt in the oven.


	9. Rejection stings

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters.**

 **Drabble challenge**

 **Prompt: We'll trade, how about that? I give you the book, and you give me a kiss?**

* * *

 **Rejection stings**

* * *

Hermione was busy tidying up the books in the library, because quite frankly it was getting on her nerves; why didn't students bother to slip a book back into place, it wasn't rocket science. And yes, the books were charmed to organise themselves, but she'd noticed the charm wasn't working properly; some books with similar titles were getting placed in the wrong sections.

She'd have to bring it up with Madame Pince when the woman stopped yelling at-

"Hello, Hermione." One of the books in her hand was slipped out of her grasp.

Hermione froze. Oh no, please not _him._ She had thought he'd got the message by now. She turned around to find Cormac McLaggen was standing in front of her, leaning against one of the shelves. "…Hello, Cormac," she greeted tonelessly.

He smiled brightly, she faintly frowned; perhaps referring to him by first name wasn't a good idea. "I haven't seen you since Slughorn's party." He let out an easy laugh. "You aren't avoiding me are you?"

"No, of course not," Hermione forced a smile, trying to think of the best way to get rid of him. "I'm just very busy…Prefect duties are…exhausting."

He seemed to accept this easy enough-but the book he'd taken was still in his hand. "I bet. So I was wondering-"

Her stomach twisted in dread. Why had she asked him out in the first place? He was an arrogant asshole, and using him to make Ron jealous now felt so…..immature.

"-If you wanted to watch me practice my flying?" He leaned in a bit closer.

Watch him practice his flying? How was that even romantic! "I'm sorry, I still have work to do. Now I need that book back." Hermione held out her hand expectantly, his smile dimmed.

Cormac glanced at the book, then at Hermione, his lip curling upwards in a smug smirk. "We'll trade, how about that? I give you the book, and you give me a kiss?"

She involuntary backed away, remembering when he tried to corner her under the mistletoe, she scowled. "No, just give me the book back."

He stepped closer towards her. "Don't be like that, Hermione," he said, a flash or irritation appeared on his face. "It's just a little kiss…"

Hermione grabbed her wand, which was tucked into the waistband of her skirt, her eyes narrowing at him when he started closing in the proximity between them. She gritted her teeth. Cormac closed his eyes, lips pursed and five inches away from her face.

She whipped out her wand and hissed under her breath _. "Confundo."_

Cormac shuddered when the spell hit him, jerking away from her. Hermione grabbed the book from his slack grip and hurried off, tucking her wand back into her skirt waistband, while Cormac looked around drowsily.

She huffed in annoyance. ' _I give you the book, and you give me a kiss?_ ' honestly, what an arrogant sod.


	10. Broken Bones

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters, I do own however any OC's.**

 **Drabble challenge.**

 **Prompt: I'm tired of always looking over my shoulder.**

* * *

 **Broken Bones**

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was practically empty, with only one or two people at the back of the room.

It was starting to get late when Susan sat to have a drink with her friend Hannah…but since Hannah was the barmaid, it was more of Susan being served drinks as Hannah did most of the talking. But it was fine, she didn't mind anyway and Hannah knew all the gossip.

But then Susan had gone and ruined it by dropping the bombshell.

"You're moving abroad." Hannah's eyes widened, she stopped trying to polish the counter, tossing the rag away. "Why?"

Susan just shrugged, taking a sip of her Butterbeer. "I just fancy a change of scenery…."

The former Hufflepuff didn't seem to buy it. "Oh come on, you've been acting strange all month." Then her voice softened. "There's something else, isn't there?"

Susan's stomach churned, a bad taste in her mouth. But how could she explain it? How could she explain that she felt she was an endangered species-she almost laughed-even in her head it sounded ridiculous.

She was the last Bones family member left (the last one carrying the name anyway.)

Her dad had died three months after she'd been born, then her aunt had died before her sixth year….. It felt like the entire family had a death wish. Her mother had remarried when she was nine, a wizard called Martin Berry, then came Susan's half brother Luke and she loved them all, she was glad her mother was happy again. But for some reason, she just felt like she was an outsider in her own family.

Sometimes she thought she was being a bit overdramatic, that she was being paranoid, that this constant state of anxiety was just trauma from seeing her classmates die on the battlefield. But she often lay awake wondering if she was just living on borrowed time.

"Susan?" Hannah sounded concerned.

She sighed. "I know it's sudden….but, I'm tired of always looking over my shoulder…it's difficult to explain," she said, draining the rest of her Butterbeer.

"What are you?-"

Susan slipped off the bar stool. "It's getting late, I should go home." She smiled disarmingly. "I'll talk to you later…"

The barmaid didn't look pleased by her abruptness, watching her warily. "Alright then, I'll see you later."

Susan grabbed her handbag, giving Hannah one last wave, before leaving the pub. She hugged her jacket tighter around her, the weather outside was a bit nippy lately.

* * *

She let out a deep sigh when she unlocked her front door, she still had to finish packing and get her bank accounts sorted, so tomorrow was going to be a busy morning.

The hallway was dark and silent as usual, Susan smiled somewhat bitterly. "Oh darling, I'm home!" her voice reverberated around the house. She rolled her eyes-maybe she should buy a cat to keep her company-

"Welcome back, dear."

Susan felt her blood run cold, as the familiar voice rang through her ears.


	11. First Horcrux

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters, I do own however any OC's.**

 **Drabble challenge.**

 **Prompt: so fragile, so beautiful, he was afraid of breaking it**

* * *

 **First Horcrux**

* * *

Tom had expected the procedure to be painful; after all, the road to power was riddled with sacrifices and tolls that needed to be paid.

He panted, his arms shaking as he collapsed on the Forbidden Forest floor, breathing heavily as he wiped the tears from his eyes. The dark magic sealed around his diary, the small book rested on the mossy ground. Tom struggled to sit up, leaning against a tree trunk, he just needed a moment to regain his bearings, his eye stayed locked on the diary.

He could feel the connection already, it was the strongest connection he'd ever felt in his life. For a second he wondered if this was what fools called love, but the childish thought soon left his head, this connection was far more than a petty adolescent relationship.

This once plain Muggle book was now so much more. Tom propped himself onto his feet, retrieving the Horcrux from the ground, he felt an instant buzz when his long fingers touched the leather cover. His heartbeat quickened, the magic around the diary was like a small heartbeat in sync with his own.

It felt so powerful….yet it looked so fragile, so beautiful, he was afraid of breaking it.

He tucked the diary into his inner robe pocket. Of course this fragment of his soul wouldn't be powerful enough to properly sustain him over the century, he'd need to create more….

Five would do nicely….Tom frowned, feeling the Horcrux warm against his chest…or perhaps….seven? Seven was the most powerful magical number after all.

His eyes glinted hungrily.


	12. Dreamless Sleep

**First: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or characters.**

 **Hogwarts Drabble Challenge:Bottle**

 **First aid challenge**

 **Quidditch challenge: she had never felt so free**

 **Warning:Drug abuse. Graphic injuries.**

* * *

 **Dreamless Sleep**

* * *

1st February 1980

She kept the small purple bottle in her white pinafore pocket. It was a comfort. It wasn't like she was going to be reckless and sneak a sip in during her lunch break, because that would be stupid and irresponsible. She'd been a Ravenclaw, that meant she was clever.

She was clever… She was smart… _She wouldn't get caught..._

"Vivian, are you okay?"

The voice jolted her back to reality - had she been staring into space? She was back into the hospital room. Mara, the healer who had spoken, was looking at her expectantly.

Vivian smiled, contritely. "Sorry."

She was meant to be serving Mr Gallows his lunch (the poor man was paralysed from the neck down), the bowl of potato soup still resting in her hands. Mara just cocked an eyebrow, but then just shrugged it off, gathering the dirty blankets in her arms.

 _Stay focused._

Vivian forced a smile, carefully bringing the spoon to Mr Gallows' lips.

* * *

She was meant to be clever.

She'd received an _Exceeds Expectations_ in Potions.

The Dreamless Sleep drought: A purple medicinal potion that is used to induce drowsiness and, if correctly made, a dreamless sleep in the drinker.

 _A bottle of bliss._

But, there was a warning on dosage; the potion was powerful after all. It was to be prescribed by a trained healer…

 _But, you are a healer_.

…If the drought is taken too regularly, the user may become addicted and dependant on the substance.

 _It just helps you sleep._

Vivian stared blankly at the white wall ahead. She was sitting in the cafeteria, her prawn sandwich half eaten; she didn't feel very hungry.

"Vivian!" Mara called, rushing into the cafeteria.

She glanced up at her colleague, her mind feeling slow. "What's wrong?"

"New admission… it's a bad one. Come on." There was a grimace on Mara's face, her blonde hair was dishevelled out of its bun and there were blood stains on her pinafore (she'd need to use a spell to get rid of all that). "Come on," Mara's voice had become more urgent.

Vivian shivered, hastily regaining her focus.

 _Focus!_

"Coming!"

She bolted to her feet and followed Mara out.

* * *

They were understaffed.

She didn't know if whether or not it was because people were dying faster than flies, or because no one could stomach the blood, sweat and puss.

The general public claimed the Aurors were the brave souls fighting on the frontlines of the war.

But, she didn't think they comprehended the stress of taking in ten to twenty admissions a day, while also being understaffed in a hospital that survived on charity. Having to watch people die, then have to move their cold corpses out of bed for another to lie in, while the mattress was still warm.

Having to lie to your patients and tell them, "everything's going to be okay." She said that to old Miss Wolpert just this morning, and many of the healers weren't even sure she'd last the night.

Then, she'd force a smile and repeat the same process every single day.

 _It's never going to stop._

Vivian placed her hand in her pocket, standing in the middle of the hallway. She lightly touched the bottle, letting out a deep sigh as her fingers trailed over the smooth surface.

She felt exhausted all the time.

It was like every day a little chunk of her was taken away.

The headaches weren't that bad, they were distracting, but they reminded her to stay focused.

 _Stay focused._

* * *

There was a new patient that had been brought in, Marlene McKinnon; they had been transfiguration partners once.

But now Ms McKinnon's mind was gone. The Cruciatus curse had turned her into a twitching mess; all she did was mutter and mumble things in a language Vivian didn't understand.

They would have moved Ms McKinnon to the Janus Thickly ward if not for her injuries.

Vivian had drawn the white curtain round them, so the other patients and visitors wouldn't be afraid.

Ms McKinnon's face looked like it had been skinned, then reattached. Her face had large deep gashes along her forehead and cheeks. They'd removed the bones in her legs; maybe to stop her from running away, maybe they got off making their victims helpless.

There was also filthy profanity carved into her body, not by wand but by knife.

Vivian frowned.

Marlene must have done something big to anger the Death Eater's so much.

Ms McKinnon was going to die, slowly, she wouldn't recover. The knife the Death Eater's had used had been laced with a deadly curse. The healers couldn't contain the curse, only slow it down.

Vivian was already preparing the fresh blankets for the new patient.

* * *

The first time she had taken the potion had been four months ago when the Bradson family was brought in.

Mr and Mrs Bradson and their four children: Ellie, Marge, Danny and Sarah.

Danny had been seventeen with tanned, thin skin, and a meek look about him. He was a Muggle-Born and had been a defiant one.

She didn't know the full story.

She didn't want to know.

Muggles were only brought to St Mungos if their injuries were severe and not easily cured. Death had picked off each member of the family; Danny was the first to go, everyone else followed after.

She watched each one of them die in the space of two weeks.

She wished she could forget their faces, their begging and their confusion. She used to think about them every day and then she started dreaming about them every night. How did you control your nightmares when you didn't even know you were dreaming, because the memories were so vivid, and you didn't know how to wake up?

And, honestly, the, Dreamless Sleep draught potion had been easy to make. Slughorn had always said she had a knack for detail, even if her work had never outshone Lily Evans' or that Snape boy's. But, after making it so many times over the months, she had the recipe memorised.

And, in those brief moments after waking, with no dreams to plague her, she felt light. It was only for a moment and she still had to face the day ahead, but just for a moment she was at peace as if she was floating away.

She had never felt so free. _It was bottled bliss._

But as the day wore on… she felt so tired…

* * *

The man had a gaping hole in his chest, whatever curse had been thrown at him, it had been powerful enough to expose his rib cage. A thin, almost see-through, layer of muscle covering the organs, as the man's heart thumbed rapidly.

It looked surreal… like from a nightmare…

But, surprisingly, he might not die. The organs weren't too badly damaged, though he had nearly died from the shock. They had to pump him up with enough drugs to knock out an Ogre, but if they wanted to save him they needed to get him stabilised.

There were three healers working on him now, Vivian included. They were using a combination of their magic, trying to remove the spell's effects and repair the skin tissue. They'd need to take skin from his thigh and backside or they wouldn't be able to seal up the gaping wound.

Her hands weren't steady.

Her eyes felt like they were glazing over.

Her head hurt.

She gripped her wand tighter, trying to keep up a constant flow of magic, watching the wound intently.

The man's heartbeat was almost hypnotic.

Thump. Thump. Thump… Thump.

"Vivian!"

She jerked. The heartbeat was slowing down.

Mara pushed her out of the way, muttering spells under her breath frantically, until the man's heartbeat returned to normal.

Vivian wanted to crawl away when she saw the look Mara shot her, but they didn't have time to argue, they had a life to save. The third healer was already struggling to stabilise the patient as it was.

Three hours later, Mara reported her.

Vivian expected she'd be fired. She stuffed her hand in her pocket and held the purple bottle tightly, like a child hugging a teddy bear. She waited for the inevitable.

But, they didn't fire her.

No, they gave her three days of sick leave so she, "had proper time to rest and recover" from whatever ailment that was distracting her from work.

* * *

She dreamt of nothing.

She woke up content.

* * *

4th February 1980

Vivian woke up at seven in the morning sharp. She ate oatmeal and berries for breakfast, before putting on her uniform. She smoothed down her crisp white pinafore, before her eyes strayed to the purple bottle on her bedside table.

She stared at the bottle for quite a long time, before hesitantly picking it up and placing it in her pinafore pocket…


	13. Two Birds, One Stone

**_PAINTBALLING_**

 ** _Drabble prompt - "Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them." by Nathaniel Hawthorne_**

 ** _Quidditch prompt - Everything he touched broke._**

 ** _(I'm going by the Middle Ages spelling, so Britain will be Briton. Also, Ealdorman is an older title for Earl)_**

 ** _Thank you GallonoftheStuff, Trish and MaryandMerlin for Being my Betas._**

 ** _Word count: 3695_**

* * *

 ** _Two Birds, One Stone_**

* * *

 _14th Century, Briton_

The oak chair was uncomfortable. Tom stared at Lucius from across the small square table, the two of them in the dining hall.

Lucius uncorked some wine, filling Tom's goblet. "You talk of committing a great sin, Advisor Riddle."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

The Malfoy heir's face was blank. "Kinghood is a birthright. The King is appointed by fate and to betray your King is the greatest of sins," Lucius replied smoothly.

"You speak the truth. Though I never took you as a God-fearing man?" Tom took a sip of his drink.

Lucius' thin lips faintly quirked upwards. "Many would fear for their eternal soul."

Tom crossed his legs, leaning back in the chair. "But what if Grindelwald had no claim to the throne?"

The other man stiffened, his grip tightening around his goblet. "I don't quite understand your meaning, Advisor."

"Are you familiar with Briton's history, Lucius?"

The blonde man bristled. "Of course…the French are not as ignorant as the English like to believe."

Tom's magic flared in warning – he would only tolerate so much outspokenness. Lucius flinched.

"My apologies, Advisor. The wine, it clouds my mind." A strained smile flashed across the Malfoy heir's face. "I confess I am not as entirely fluent in the history as I would like to be."

"A forgivable offence," Tom replied lightly. "Very well; Grindelwald's grandfather conquered Briton 160 years ago. Before that, our country was governed by The Founders Small Council, made up of the descendents of the Original Four Founders."

The Royal Advisor took another sip of his wine while Lucius listened attentively. "The Grindelwalds killed nearly every descendent of the Original Four they could find and they made sure not to marry into any of the four families, meaning they had no claim to take the throne." Tom shot his host a pointed look. "So how can a king with no birthright be a king at all?" he asked, waiting patiently for Lucius to digest this and reply.

Lucius smiled coldly. "He is a false king."

There was a brief silence.

Tom drained his beverage and placed the goblet on the table. "What do you want most in the world, Lucius?" He clasped his hands together on his lap.

Lucius paused as he stared down into his goblet, hunger entering his eyes. "There are a great many things I want, Advisor, but they are all things that fade," he stated, finally looking up to meet Tom's gaze. "My father is upstairs dying from Dragon pox. What will his legacy be? A fleeing Frenchman with only gold to his name?" Disdain flashed in his gaze. "A Malfoy deserves better. I want a title and a legacy."

Tom smirked. "You aim high." He shrugged. "Very well, I always reward loyalty. However, are you sure there isn't something else you desire?"

Lucius' jaw tightened, a glimmer of surprise in his eyes. There were a great many things the Malfoy heir was good at hiding, but love and lust? Tom shook his head. Every man had a weakness and Lucius was no exception.

"Did you know, Lady Narcissa has had her first blood, just three days prior? She's a woman now, all ready for bedding," Tom informed him callously. Lucius cringed. "So tell me, how far are you willing to go to get what you want?"

* * *

The King's Royal advisor, Tom Riddle, _despised_ Sundays - Temple prayer in the morning was painfully dull. The only thing that held any interest for him was the building itself, with its gold painted walls, detailed stained glass windows and carvings—placed in a diamond shaped insignia—of the Sun, Moon, Saturn and Jupiter.

"…The most unnatural thing in this world is a child born without magic," the High Minister Fudge preached to them all, the sound-magnifying charm causing his droll voice to boom unpleasantly.

Tom glanced to his side; as customary, he and the other nobles sat at the front, while the peasants remained a respectable distance behind them – most were forced to stand at the back.

His majesty King Gellert Grindelwald's eyes were dull from boredom. The crowned Prince Anselm was sat on the King's right hand side; his betrothed, Narcissa Black, quietly beside him.

"…Magic is a force that surrounds us! It is in our blood and nothing is more sacred than blood," Minister Fudge drawled, holding up the Holy book of Fate to emphasise his point. "We must not forget that when we offer our sacrifices to the Lords above."

Tom felt his mind starting to grow numb. Did people honestly buy into this drivel? He would never understand religion, but he could believe in the preachings on destiny and birthright.

He had just turned thirty and the heir of Slytherin would no longer remain in the shadows.

His eyes flickered over to the King for a second, before they moved onto Lucius Malfoy.

The pair of icy grey-blue eyes met his and Lucius gave an ever slight nod of understanding. Tom glanced back at the podium, watching as Fudge continued to ramble on.

* * *

"James Potter is the one rumoured to be leading the rebellion," The King addressed Tom, the two of them in the King's council chambers. "It seems Dumbledore's spirit lives on." The King's gaze was almost wistful.

"Be that as it may," Tom drawled, coming to stand at the King's side. "This Order of the Phoenix, as the rebels are calling themselves, are gathering more allies. They want to stop the persecution of the Squibs."

The King slammed his fist against the wall. "Why they sympathise with such disgusting creatures is beyond me."

Tom smiled grimly. "Indeed. But regrettably, Lady Lestrange's murder of Alice and Frank Longbottom has only incited more anger among the Squibs."

Grindelwald grimaced.

After killing a few Squibs and Squib-offspring, Bellatrix was in disfavour with the public. Frank Longbottom was something of a Squib sympathiser; even going so far as to marry one. By killing him Bellatrix had only worsened the situation and caused more outcry among the Squib community.

"Be that as it may, the Order must be crushed swiftly and quietly," Tom said.

Grindelwald glanced at him warily from the corner of his eye. "I agree; we'll need someone to infiltrate them."

Tom nodded, his gaze falling pensively on the tapestry that hung on the wall. The tapestry was of the Goddess Fate, a beauty with fair-skin and long dark hair, holding a balanced scale.

"They won't accept strangers; peasants are…cautious to outsiders."

"Who do you suggest?"

"James Potter is quite close friends with Remus Lupin...Mrs Lupin was once one of our most loyal fighters."

The King frowned. "That doesn't reassuringly mean that I can trust her?"

Tom smiled disarmingly. "Her mother, Andromeda, is in prison for being unable to pay her late husband's debts, we don't need her _trust_ to control her."

* * *

The Fates Temple was very different in the evening; the 500 pews stood empty, except for a few lone worshippers who came for personal prayer.

Tom grimaced when he knelt down in one of the pews.

A slender woman in plain purple robes soon came to kneel beside him, a grey scarf covering her short pale blue hair. Tom's face became blank, making sure not to appear to acknowledge her. "Mrs Lupin, your hair is blue," his voice was low and cold.

The woman made a small squeak, her hair changing to a light brown. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Sometimes when I'm nervous it goes a bit-"

"Did you get the message?" His eyes narrowed impatiently. Nymphadora Lupin (nee Tonks) may have once been a fine combat warrior, but she was as clumsy as a Flobberworm! Her shape-shifting abilities were one of her very few good qualities. After all, Polyjuice potion could be somewhat unpredictable at times.

Lucius had said she was the best shape-shifter he could find; how pitiful.

"Yes," Tonks replied solemnly. "…I've already found the Squire."

"Good. You'll be contacted within the next three days." Tom reached into his robes, pulling out a spherical bottle with emerald green liquid inside. "It's called the Drink of Despair," he said quietly, fighting a smile that threatened to slide onto his face. He placed the potion in front of his knees on the stone floor.

A troubled look flashed across Tonks' face, her gaze focused ahead.

Tom sighed deeply. He used his finger to draw a triangle, signalling the end of his pray. "Give the Prince my regards." He stood up, not giving her a second glance,and left her kneeling in front of the pew.

* * *

The city went into mourning when the tragedy struck.

The crowned Prince Anselm was killed in a hunting accident.

The King killed the messenger boy.

Tom met Tonks in a dark alley the following night. "Did you deal with the Squire?"

A grim look was etched on Tonks' face, her eyes sunken and tired. "I made it look like a suicide."

He smiled. "Good girl."

Tonks snarled at him.

"Tell Mr Potter he'll be receiving a visit from an old friend – oh and tell your husband to keep his pack of wolves in line, people are starting to notice," he instructed.

Tonks nodded stiffly. "I will..." She gritted her teeth. "When will I be able to see my mother?" Her eyes darkened.

Tom's eyes eyes filled with frustration. He sighed. "The only reason The King believes you are loyal, is because we have your mother as blackmail. If I remove that bargaining piece, then he'll assume you've gone rouge, do you wish that, Mrs Lupin?"

Tonks lowered her gaze. "No."

Tom's eyes became icier. "Then continue to play your part and your mother will be set free."

The shape-shifter nodded in resignation.

Pawns could be such a handful sometimes.

* * *

Bellatrix stroked his chest as the two of them lay in his bed, tangled up in green silk sheets.

"Will you let me torture him before he dies?" she whispered in his ear. Her dark frizzy hair tickled his cheek.

He looked at her sternly, the dark magic caressing them both. "No, it needs to be done quickly, Bella." Tom smiled coyly, stroking Bellatrix's cheek tenderly – she melted into his touch, like a House-Elf yearning for praise; how pathetic.

Bellatrix scowled. "He is a false king, a traitor; let me make an example out of him." She looked at him imploringly.

His smiled tightened. " _No_ ," he said, darkly. He grasped her jaw, squeezing painfully. Bellatrix tensed. "Are you questioning my orders, Bella?"

She gulped. "Never, my lord," she replied reverently. The former warrior leaned into his painful grip, kissing his hand. "My loyalty is to you alone."

He let go of her jaw, eyeing her curiously. How far did her devotion stretch? What was she willing to sacrifice? He smirked.

"Prove it."

* * *

Bellatrix never did anything in halves.

Ealdorman Cygnus and his wife Druella Black's cold corpses were found alongside their cousins, Walburga and Orion Black.

The Aurors reported that their aging House-Elf, Kreacher, had poisoned them – the elf had thought the poison in the upper cabinet was milk.

Fifteen year old Regulus Black was now head of the family (since his traitor older brother had been disowned three years prior).

Tom soon found Regulus was very eager to please.

* * *

James and Lily Potter didn't like Tom very much, a feeling which was mutual.

"We're not your hired assassins," Lily said firmly, her green eyes as hard as flint.

"Mrs Potter, freedom comes at a cost," Tom's eyes landed on the bump in her stomach—the redhead protectively held her large belly—and he smiled at her pleasantly. "How else are we meant to better the world for future generations?" He sighed in exasperation. "When we allied together, I thought you understood that?"

James' eyes narrowed, his hands curling into fists. "The children of those nobles are innocent. Now get out."

Tom smothered his growing anger. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mrs Potter's bulging stomach; how easy would it be to rip her open and drag the foetus out? Just to see the absolute horror and devastation on the Potter's faces – he almost smiled, but restrained himself.

"Bellatrix was a child once too," Tom said softly. James gritted his teeth, his face heating up in anger. "Mrs Potter, is it correct that your parents are no longer with us?"

That sparked a candle. "Get out of my home!" James shouted, withdrawing his wand.

Lily closed her eyes, willing her tears not to fall, then let out a shallow breath. "We will not murder children," she said calmly.

 _What a pair of idealistic fools!_

James squared his shoulders and stepped in front of Lily – who already had her wand drawn.

A hint of red shone in Tom's eyes. "Mr Potter, I think you should calm down, or have you forgotten who's been keeping this organisation afloat?"

James let out a hollow laugh. "So what, you think just because you've helped us out a few times that you own us?" The Head of the Potter family took a step closer to him. "We may have needed your help in gathering information about the King, but we're not your puppets."

Tom smiled crookedly. "How curious. Tell me, Mr Potter, how much do you trust the men in your company?" James became tenser. "Because loyalty is quite a fickle thing."

"Mr Riddle, I think you should leave," Lily ordered, her eyes swimming with suppressed rage. She placed a hand on James' shoulder. "Or I might just forget my manners."

He held back his magic as it flared dangerously. They had no idea who they were dealing with.

Tom looked at them both intently, then said in an unnervingly calm voice. "…Very well, it appears our allegiance has come to an end."

 _They were fools, pitiful, weak fools._

The dark wizard smiled at them thinly, taking a brief look around their humble little home. "I'll let myself out."

* * *

It had been a mistake allying with the Order of the Phoenix. Tom had thought he'd be able to corrupt and perhaps sway them down a darker path. The Potters turned out to be more stubborn than he'd anticipated.

But it wasn't like Tom needed them anymore. He'd only needed them as a distraction for the King, something to spark resentment from the peasants and lower the King's approval.

"My Lord." Lucius bowed to him. They had decided to meet in the underground Crypts of the castle. Grindelwald was still busy trying to crush The Order—which had only sprouted like weeds—to notice the treason happening under his very nose.

Tom stayed in the shadows as Nagini curled around his leg; he gently stroked her skin. "Did you find them?"

Lucius kept his gaze lowered. "No, my Lord. They must have have been sent a warning beforehand."

But who would dare...? Wait...the Shape-shifter! Oh, she would pay dearly for her betrayal, he'd make sure her death was _slow_ , of course he'd kill her last after he made her first watch her husband, son and mother suffer.

Tom gritted his teeth, his grey eyes changing to red. "Didn't I tell you to not let them out of your sight!"

Lucius flinched, bowing even lower. "I-I did, my lord, we placed Anti-Apparation wards around their home, w-we watched them like hawks…but…they just…disappeared-"

" _Silencio. Crucio._ "

The head of the Malfoy family writhed silently on the damp floor. Tom's eyes were scarlet. A small smile played on his face as he watched Lucius squirm.

Yes, allying with the Order had been a grave error on some part, but he'd deal with them at a later date. He still needed to kill the remainder of Grindelwald's kin and those who were most loyal to the King. Tom didn't have much time left to finally complete his plans; everything needed to click into place at the correct moment.

If Grindelwald died before his kin were dead, then one of them could seize the throne. All their deaths would need to occur within a short period of time.

He lifted the curse and the Silencio spell.

Tom looked down at the grovelling man; oh, what a change a few months made. The dark wizard was impressed by his work; he delighted in the fact that everything he touched broke.

"I'll have Baron Nott and Sir Crabbe search for the Order. I want you to find the Lupin family and Ms Andromeda." Tom frowned when something occurred to him. "I'll have the Lestranges keep a tighter watch on Lady Narcissa - they may only be cousins, but her delusions of family loyalty will cloud her senses."

"Of course my Lord." Lucius gingerly rose to his feet. "…But I can assure you, Lady Narcissa would never be so reckless."

Ah, trying to protect his beloved, how _revolting_. Why did love make men fools? Tom was unpleasantly reminded of his whore of a mother.

" _Silencio_."

Lucius stiffened, his eyes filling with fear.

" _Crucio_."

Tom's servant collapsed to the floor, writhing and squirming like a headless chicken.

* * *

"Remember, you have thirty minutes." Tom handed the Polyjuice potion over to Bellatrix.

The witch nodded, smiling wickedly. "Yes, my Lord." She practically purred out the title.

He hid his sneer, keeping his expression blank. Bellatrix drank the potion. Before his eyes she transformed into a lithe angel faced boy who looked around seventeen.

"You remember the Squib's name?"

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose – which looked ridiculous on the boy's face. "Nigel Wolpert." Her voice sounded unusually soft.

Tom handed over the small bag of money. "Make sure to show him this, so he thinks the brothel owner was paid."

* * *

Ah, Bellatrix, she was a prime example of how love turned the strong into weak willed buffoons.

It had been so easy, _painfully_ easy.

They had burst in to find Bellatrix (Polyjuice potion gradually wearing off) straddling a naked Grindelwald. The former King's throat was slit and the blood stained dagger was in her hand.

He'd brought along three guards, Baron Nott and Head Auror Dawlish as his witnesses. He had told them he had heard word of a plot to assassinate the King, orchestrated by the remaining Blacks who were looking to make a grab for power.

When Tom had pointed his wand at the dark witch, only then did realisation shine in her eyes.

" _Stupefy_."

Bellatrix fell on top of Grindelwald's warm corpse.

* * *

Tom didn't understand why some people found murder unnatural.

When he was sixteen and had killed his pathetic Squib of a father, murder had never felt so right.

Some people didn't deserve to live; it was that simple. People were like chess pieces; they each had a certain role to fulfil and there were only a certain number of pieces you needed to play the game

The King's body had still been warm when Tom denounced the Order of the Phoenix as traitors.

Tom stepped onto the podium, the wind brushing his green and black robes. All eyes were on him, as if he was the answer to all their problems, and the sad fact was that he was their only answer.

The Royal family was dead.

He was the last legitimate descendant of the greatest of the Original Four, Salazar Slytherin.

It was _his_ birthright to rule over Briton.

And they ate it up like the mewling pigs they were.

* * *

The next time he addressed the people of the city, they were cheering, as all were gathered in the Temple for his coronation.

Newly appointed Ealdorman Lucius Malfoy stood at his right side. Narcissa hung onto Lucius' arm like he was her life-line.

Tom decided to forgo the crown; it would send the wrong message. He was kneeling in front of the altar, reciting the sacred oath, before High Minister Fudge finally addressed the crowd.

"Do the people of the land want such a ruler?"

There was the tiniest second of hesitation.

"We wish it and grant it!" The people replied in unison.

Tom got to his feet and smiled at them. "Thank you, Minister Fudge," he said, the blood red cloak heavy on his shoulders. The room fell silent. "But I fear such titles as king are too…archaic."

Some people in the crowd started to look confused and nervous.

His smile stayed stuck in place. "…I am your Lord protector; this is the dawn of a new age, where any man, rich or poor, may be remade into something greater." There was a low murmuring of excitement. "I have been reborn; therefore Tom Riddle is no more - only Lord Voldemort remains!"

If they were shocked or afraid, they hid it with thundering claps and praises.

* * *

The cells beneath the castle were cold and infested with Dementors.

He almost didn't recognise her when he arrived at her cell. In only four days, she'd changed so much. Her hair was greasy, her eyes sunken, making her face look gaunt and skull-like.

She looked withered and frail.

When she looked up at him, her eyes shone with despair.

He twirled the Elder wand in his hand; it wouldn't work for him.

"Bella...didn't I warn you to be more discreet?"

She didn't utter a word.

He sighed deeply. "You made it too easy." Nagini trailed down from the low ceiling, and then slithered through bars of the cell. "…Any last words?"

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed in anger, then she spat at his feet.

Nagini lunged at her, while Voldemort passively looked on. He smiled when he felt the Elder wand's magic stroke his own.

And just like that, the last piece slid into place.


	14. Tea and Biscuits

**FORT-BUILDING Challenge**

 **Drabble challenge prompt – "Oh...Bugger**."

* * *

 **Tea and Biscuits**

* * *

How do you repair a society that has been plagued with war, prejudice and dark creatures? With a cup of tea and a plate of digestive biscuits.

Three friends sat around an old, wooden table in a gloomy-looking kitchen. On the table was a few dusty folders, a long roll of yellow-tinted parchment –with blots of ink staining it–three mugs of tea and a large plate of chocolate-coated digestives.

A freckled boy with ginger hair by the name of Ronald Weasley Was finishing off his third biscuit as he stared at the conundrum before him. "This isn't gonna work, Mione."

The second young man at the table groaned lowly, slumping down in his chair. He was called Harry Potter and had a lightning scar on his forehead – a parting gift from a maniac who'd tried to kill him multiple times.

Hermione Granger gritted her teeth; she was a plain-faced, bushy-haired woman fast approaching 25. "Ronald, propaganda is dangerous and Kingsley wants it gone," she snapped, taking a large gulp of her tea. "The Anti-Propaganda Bill is going to pass."

"…But remember how long it took to pass the last bill?" Ron pressed on.

She cringed, draining the last drop of her drink, before flicking her wand to boil the kettle again. "Oh God no."

Harry buried his face in his hands. "Please don't remind me. Do you know how much sleep I lost that month?"

Hermione scoffed. "Well at least you _had_ sleep. Remember when I fainted in the courtroom?"

"I did tell you to take a break," Ron said. "You nearly died when you tried to get SPEW going for a third time."

"It's S.P…oh, stuff it, I don't even care about the name anymore." She let out an exasperated huff and folded her arms. "Anyway, we're getting off topic. I didn't gather you all for nothing."

He frowned. "I thought you said you were going to order us a Muggle food-order-thingy…"

"A take-away," Harry corrected.

Ron snapped his fingers. "That's it!"

"We'll do that later!" Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "I'll need both your public support if I'm going to get this passed. I've already talked with Susan and Penelope. They've managed to gather a lot of the journalists on board–including the editor of the Daily Prophet–but it's still split 50/50." She pursed her lips. "Rita Skeeter is unsurprisingly on the opposition."

Harry's eyes flickered to the pile of envelopes in the bin. "How vocal?"

Hermione scowled, but nevertheless pointed her wand at the thrown away letters. A pink letter zoomed out of the rubbish and exploded, a loud, shrieking voice booming out.

Ron clapped his hands over his ears. Harry was nearly blown off his seat.

"A STUCK UP, SELF-RIGHTEOUS **, BUCK-TOOTHED** , FRIZ-HEADED ANARCHISTIC **BITCH**!"

She pointed her wand at the envelope a second time; the letter burst into flames.

"Quite vocal," she said, pouring herself a second cup of tea.

"Bloody hell!" Ron stared at her wide eyed, picking up a fourth digestive. "Give a guy a little warning next time, will you?"

Hermione shrugged. "Funnily enough, they're not as vile as the ones I received in fourth year…I suppose Harry's love life sparked more passion among the populace." She smiled at him teasingly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Okay, let's get back to work. The Anti-Propaganda bill has a lot of support, but it could still not get passed. There's still a lot of corruption in the Ministry.

"Bloody cockroaches," Ron mumbled, devouring his fifth biscuit.

Hermione sighed, downing the rest of her tea. "I know that. But this time is different. I've sussed out most of the snakes, and Kingsley has given me his full support on this one. This bill _will_ get passed." Her brows furrowed, her lips set in a thin line.

Harry exchanged a look with Ron."Yeah, but it took us four years to finally make love potions illegal," the the messy-haired man argued.

She sighed deeply, slumping in her chair. "This time will be different, I've researched every loophole there is and I've got a strong number of support." She poured herself a third cup of tea. "If this bill doesn't pass, I'll play Quidditch against you two."

* * *

 **Three Days later…**

The Daily Prophet Editor Barnabas Cuffe was old and fat, his hands thick like sausages; they nearly crushed Harry's hand.

"Glad you could make it!" Cuffe greeted. "Take a seat. Would you like a coffee?"

"No thanks." Harry forced a smile. If someone had told him eight years ago he would be making nice with the editor of the Daily Prophet, he would have told you to sod off, then probably sat gloomily in a corner.

The only reason he was there was because Hermione wanted him to double check the article before the PR got a hold of it, before distribution. He assumed it was because he had enough influence to sway the editor for any necessary changes. It was a bit of a hassle since it kept him at the Ministry after he clocked out from work, but since he was helping Hermione out it didn't bother him that much – considering she was working herself to the bone to get this bill passed.

"Thanks," the younger man said.

The editor sat down behind his desk. "The article covering the Anti-Propaganda Bill will be printed tomorrow morning."

Harry's eyes grew. "Tomorrow? But public relations hasn't had a look at it yet!"

Cuffe frowned. "I received an owl from Miss Granger yesterday morning telling me to go ahead and print it."

Harry gaped at the man like he was confunded. "Why would she say that? It makes no sense!" He stood to his feet. "Why would she have it printed without giving it a read over? The whole reason I'm here is to make sure it's written right!"

Cuffe looked quite offended. "I assumed you were here to check the article had gone through to printing," he said gruffly. "I was simply following Miss Granger's request. I have the letter here if you need further proof." The editor pulled out a folded piece of paper from his desk drawer.

Harry snatched it up and quickly scanned it. The letter had been typed up by typewriter with Hermione's signature at the bottom; only it wasn't her signature.

 _Forgery_.

"Brilliant," Harry said sarcastically, crumpling the letter up. Cuffe looked at him in indignation. "Just _brilliant_. Let me see the article."

 _May as well see how bad the damage was._

The editor fumbled a bit, looking very put out, pulling open another drawer. Cuffe pulled out a long piece of parchment. "This is the final draft. We had our best writers on it."

This didn't reassure Harry. "Wonderful," he replied dryly, beginning to read the article.

Within a minute of reading, he wanted to repeatedly bash his head against the wooden desk. When he finished reading the entire thing, he then wanted to dig a grave and bury himself alive.

"This is the article about to go in print tomorrow?" he asked.

Cuffe nodded. "Yes. Mr Potter, I think you'll find we've done our best to portray the bill in a very positive light."

"Oh, I can see that." Harry buried his face in his right hand. "You've done such a fantastic job that the article has become propaganda." He let out a groan, returning his attention to the disgruntled editor. "You can't use propaganda to support an anti-propaganda bill!"

Cuffe stood up from his chair, looking positively livid. "We have done no such thing!"

"This entire article is biased and degrades the opposition." Harry clenched his hands into fists. "What was the point of mentioning Mr Penrose's gambling addiction? It has no relation to context!"

The editor had the decency to look a little sheepish. "The readers like a sensational story."

"It makes us look like hypocrites!" Harry took a second to take a deep breath and calm down. "Stop the presses."

Cuffe scoffed. "It's already in printing! We'd have to physically stop the machine –"

Harry buried his face in his hands.

 _Please let this be a nightmare_!

When he looked back up Cuffe was staring at him helplessly.

Harry let out a low sigh. "Oh…bugger."

* * *

 **Three days later…**

The three old friends were seated in silence around the old, wooden table again, a plate of digestive biscuits and three cups of tea resting on top. The files were scattered haphazardly on the table, with scrunched up paper on top.

A battered clock hung above the kitchen sink, the ticking noise reverberating around the room.

Ron finished munching on his sixth biscuit. Hermione's face was resting on the table, her hair frizzier than usual.

Harry stared at his pale, pink mug, eyeing up the illustration of a dancing cow that was printed on the ceramic. Then his eyes flicked between both of his friends. "Anyone want more tea?"

No one spoke.

"…Okay." Harry got off the chair, bringing his empty cup to the counter top.

There was another pause.

"So…" Ron piped up, noisily swallowing his food. Hermione slowly looked up, bags under her eyes. "The article thing is…uh…kind of ironic, isn't it?" He attempted to smile and lighten the mood. "I didn't expect the public backlash to be that bad. I'm surprised they even noticed it was biased…"

She gazed at him blankly, her eyes narrowing. Hermione rolled up one of the files and whacked him around the head repeatedly. "Rub it in why don't you!" She looked like she was one step away from a nervous breakdown.

Ron raised his hands to protect himself. "Well, it's pretty ironic when you think about it." He looked towards Harry for support – the other young man just shrugged helplessly. "And come on, the bill will get passed…eventually. Now just isn't a good time. We'll just have to be smarter next time." He patted her on the arm as a show of comfort.

Hermione faltered, gradually lowering the file back down onto the table. "True, these things do take time." She looked at her on/off boyfriend apologetically. "Sorry."

Ron brushed it off. "Just relax, Mione, things aren't as bad as you think."

Harry faintly smiled, before he looked in the cupboard for more tea bags, only to find the box empty. His smile dropped as he glanced over his shoulder. "We're out of tea."

Hermione's magic fizzed.

The table was knocked over with a loud bang, biscuits and half-finished, cold tea smashing onto the floor.


	15. The Snake and the Lion

**Forum challenge**

 **Prompts: Just Give Me a Reason by Pink and 'Falling in love was the easiest thing she had ever done.'**

 **Thanks GallonsoftheStuff for being my beta.**

* * *

 **The Snake and the Lion**

* * *

 _29th September, 1995_

"Oi, Veregreen,please pass the butter," Nott asked from across the table.

Lucretia ignored him and kept her gaze focused on the pudgy girl sitting at the Gryffindor table.

Patricia Stimpson wasn't very attractive that was an undisputed fact. Her skin was a washed- out brown colour with a tint of yellow, and her face was round and plain. She was a bit overweight and her fashion sense was a little behind the times.

" _Veregreen_ could you please the butter."

So why did Lucretia's heart flutter every time the stupid pudgy Gryffindor smiled at her? More importantly, why was a girl making her feel this way!

Lucretia was seventeen and she should have moved past this hormonal phase.

"Lucretia Veregreen will pass the bloody butter!" Nott finally snapped, which gained a few curious looks from the other Slytherins.

She jerked her head up in surprise and blinked a few times. "Oh…" Lucretia frowned, passing him the plate of butter. "There's no need to yell," she chided testily.

Nott grumbled something under his breath as he snatched the butter from her. Lucretia glanced back at Stimpson - her stomach fluttered, making her frown deepen.

…She really hoped Hell was just another Muggle Fairy Tale.

* * *

 _1st November, 1995_

Lucretia didn't normally visit the library much ̶ Madame Pince was too shrill and nosey for her liking. There was nothing else really to do though, so since she had a free period she decided to spend it reading her new Witch Weekly magazine, which had a whole new page on everlasting nail varnish.

A second later she heard a loud thud, and her stomach twisted when she looked up from her magazine. Patri — Stimpson, was clutching her left eye; it appeared she had walked into the corner of the bookcase.

Lucretia's brow creased, her chest feeling unusually tight. "…Uh, are you okay?"

Stimpson looked up in surprise and the two stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time. "…I…Sorry. Yeah, I'm fine." The Gryffindor eventually found her voice, still covering her left eye.

Lucretia looked around the sparsely filled library, then back at the injured girl. "Ok." She frowned. "Do you, uh, want me to have a look at your eye? I'm pretty good at healing magic."

(That was a lie, she was mediocre at best. Hopefully she didn't blind the girl...on second thought, maybe she shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. The last thing she needed was a lawsuit…)

"Oh, thanks," Stimpson said, an unsure smile creeping onto her face. She walked over to Lucretia, sitting down opposite her.

Lucretia closed her magazine and pulled out her wand. "Just hold still." The pudgy girl removed her hand, revealing a very sore looking eye. "You know, I never took you for a klutz."

"I'm not," Stimpson replied defensively."I'm just distracted today." She averted her gaze.

Lucretia arched an eyebrow, attempting to heal up the blemish, and gripped the girl's chin to hold her still.

Stimpson stiffened. The bruise was—more or less—healed completely, with just a few faint marks of red around the eye. "Done," Lucretia said, her tone clipped, letting go of Stimpson's chin.

"Thanks," muttered the Gryffindor, quickly getting up.

Lucretia looked at her curiously; upon closer inspection, Stimpson's eyes seemed less plain, they still were a muddy brown, but there was a small…sparkle to them. "You're welcome…bye." Lucretia gruffly cleared her throat.

Stimpson practically ran out of the library.

 _…What a weirdo._

Lucretia snatched up her magazine, her brow furrowed in irritation.

* * *

 _10th November, 1995_

Lucretia stabbed at her potato, sitting down at the Slytherin table, lost in her own little world.

Maybe Patricia would look more attractive if she wore make-up...no, it would just make her look weird.

She was…fine as she was. _Unique_ in fact. Lucretia didn't want her to change.

Patricia had other assets too; like nice round breasts.

(Not that Lucretia was a pervert or anything…she was just very observant.)

Lucretia discreetly glanced over at the Gryffindor table; she could just about see the back of Stimpson's head.

…What if Stimpson had a nice body underneath those robes?

Lucretia froze, her fork harshly scraping her plate. "Fuck."

* * *

 _20th November, 1995_

Now Lucretia didn't consider herself a confrontational person…most of the time…but this was a problem she could no longer ignore!

Patricia had crossed a line.

Fortunately/unfortunately, the girl was in Lucretia's DADA class, so once the gruelling lesson was finished, she dragged the Gryffindor off to a broom cupboard.

"What are you doing?" Patricia exclaimed, trying to escape the cupboard.

Lucretia locked the door, switching the light on. "What the hell if this?" She pulled out a Christmas card.

The seventh year looked at her like she was bonkers. "It's a Christmas card ̶ are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, I'm just _dandy_ ," Lucretia snapped, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "Do you have any idea of what would have happened if people found out you sent me this?"

"…They'd be inspired to spread the Christmas spirit?"

Lucretia's expression tightened. Why wasn't Patricia taking this seriously! "They'd think something was going on between us that's what."

Patricia cocked an eyebrow. "Like what? The fact we don't hate each other's guts? It's only a Christmas card, so will you calm down, please." She sighed deeply. "I was only being nice."

Lucretia frowned. Did that mean…had she read the signs wrong? Her stomach twisted unpleasantly. "Oh." She'd been an idiot to assume that Patricia would…be like her. "Sorry. You're right, I'm just being weird, forget it."

"Hey, wait." Patricia touched her hand; the touch was gentle and warm. "Is there something else bothering you?"

Lucretia stiffened and backed against the wall, the cupboard feeling far too small. Why the fuck had she chosen a broom cupboard of all places? "No, it's nothing, I just overreacted."

Patricia's forehead creased, staring at her searchingly.

Why the hell was she looking at her like that and why was she standing so close?

Then a flicker of recognition flashed in the Gryffindor's eyes. Without warning, or so much as a passing compliment, Patricia kissed her.

The kiss felt wet and her breath smelled like beef sandwiches; nevertheless Lucretia found herself kissing back.

* * *

 _10th December, 1995_

Whoever said students didn't have sex in boarding school was as naïve as a newborn kitten. Though it was true students would be expelled/severely punished if caught in the act, that didn't dissuade anyone.

Even the head girl and boy got a little action on the side after curfew. As long as you didn't get caught, you could get away with all sorts of depravity!

Classrooms were the most popular spots ̶ you just had to find the right ones. A Professor's living quarters were usually attached to their classrooms. However some rooms (like the Art classroom) didn't have any living quarters attached to it.

Having sex with Patricia was the most liberating feeling ever.

It was in those moments that she was truly a goddess in Lucretia's eyes.

"Damn you're good." Patricia's breathing was shallow, as she placed kisses on Lucretia's collar bone.

Lucretia grinned and tickled her stomach. "Why, thank you." She chuckled, kissing her cheek, embracing Patricia.

She wished these moments could last forever.

* * *

 _15th December, 1995_

Lucretia was walking down the hallway, with Patricia close behind. "Stop it," she hissed at the Gryffindor, looking around in paranoia. "You're too close."

A hurt look flashed across Patricia's face, making Lucretia wince in guilt. "It's not like we're holding hands," Patricia muttered, looking behind her shoulder, but the hallways was deserted.

"Can't you just relax a little?"

"I'm fine." Lucretia's forehead creased. She paused, giving the hallway another quick inspection. "I just don't want people spreading rumours. Sorry." She smiled at her apologetically.

Patricia grimaced; biting down on her bottom lip. "…Would it really be that much of an awful thing if people knew?"

The Slytherin's eyes bulged. "Of course it would," she snapped. Her girlfriend scowled.

Lucretia sighed in exasperation. "The whole school would shun us, Patty."

"Not everyone would," Patricia argued, as her eyes narrowed. "I know my friends wouldn't."

Lucretia bit down on her tongue, glancing around the hallway anxiously. "Let's just…we can talk about this later, alright?" She hastily grasped her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

Patricia still didn't look pleased, her shoulders tense. "…Alright, fine." She pulled her hand out of Lucretia's grip. "Later then." The Gryffindor brushed past her without a second glance.

Lucretia ran a hand through her raven hair, chewing her tongue. Patricia was probably just tired of always sneaking around, but she'd get over it eventually…

The Slytherin shook her head and tried to shove her worries to the back of her mind.

* * *

 _18th December, 1995_

Christmas break was only a day away. Most students were in their dormitories doing some last minute packing ̶ Lucretia on the other hand was pre-occupied looking for her girlfriend.

She'd, reluctantly, asked Patricia's friends of her whereabouts, but those girls had been useless in providing any valuable information. Apparently they hadn't seen Patricia since lunch, which was a good three hours ago.

Lucretia's brows knitted together. It was unusual for Patricia to not turn up at their pre-scheduled meet-up times, considering they'd both be going back home tomorrow, so she'd expected the Gryffindor would be a bit more eager to see her. Perhaps Patricia was ill? Maybe that was what all this fuss was about.

Half the time Lucretia didn't know what was going on in Patricia's head. The girl could be so emotional and rash sometimes!

After taking a few wrong turns and getting lost down three corridors, Lucretia finally found her missing girlfriend. Patricia had been outside all this time, sitting by the lake with her scarf pulled up to her chin.

Was she trying to catch hypothermia?

"There you are!" Lucretia exclaimed, smiling brightly. Patricia glanced up at her, a scowl flashing across her face. "…What's wrong?" Her girlfriend glared at the ground. "…Okay, seriously, what's wrong?" Lucretia apprehensively sat down next to her, looking around to make sure they were alone.

Patricia remained silent for a while, her teeth gritted and fist clenched, like she was struggling to hold back some kind of outburst. "Are you serious about our relationship?!"

Lucretia's eyes widened. It took her a few seconds to process what Patricia was saying, as memories of the last couple of months came flooding back. "Oh…so that's why you're upset." The Slytherin frowned. "Listen, just because we have to keep this secret, doesn't mean I don't think this is a serious relationship." She smiled reassuringly. "I mean, it's sort of romantic when you think about it…"

"No it isn't," Patricia said, disapprovingly.

Lucretia quickly raised her hands in a non-threatening gesture. "If you say so." She lowered her hands and let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm sorry if this is hard for you, but it won't be like this forever. Once we graduate we can move away. My parents won't be able to stop us and we'll get our happy ending."

Patricia raised an eyebrow."Happy ending?" she repeated, shrewdly.

Lucretia shrugged. "Isn't that how every forbidden romance ends?"

"Either that or they both die."

Lucretia grimaced. "Let's try to avoid the latter." She didn't fancy dying this young. "I'm just trying to say that we won't have to hide forever."

Patricia faced her fully, staring at her warily. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes. Of course I bloody mean it." Lucretia scowled in impatience. "You think I'd fall in love with just any girl?"

Patricia's eyes brightened. "Did you...did you just say you loved me?"

Lucretia froze. Ah fuck. Her cheeks grew pink. "Yes." Her heartbeat quickened, feeling suddenly very vulnerable. "I guess I love you."

A grin spread on the other girl's lips. "You guess?"

Lucretia's brow creased. "Fine. I love you, okay. I thought it was obvious," she replied, defensive.

(She felt ridiculous.)

Patricia's gaze softened. "I love you too."

Lucretia's chest constricted, a warm tender sensation wrapping round her heart. It was pleasant and weird. "Great. Wonderful. Are you still mad at me?"

Her girlfriend kissed her cheek. "No, you're off the hook." She stood up.

Lucretia's lip tugged upwards, as she got to her feet. She glanced at Patricia's hand, before she hesitantly held it as they walked back towards the castle. She ignored the other girl's warm glance and kept her gaze focused ahead.

She supposed holding hands wasn't too much of a risk. As soon as the castle came in sight they could just let go and walk a respectable distance away from each other…hand holding felt a bit nice.

Lucretia sighed, wondering how the hell this had come to be. It felt like her life had done a complete 180 two times around, and yet for some unexplainable reason, falling in love was the easiest thing she had ever done.

* * *

 **Finally got this posted. It's been sitting on my laptop for moths.**


End file.
